Gone Wylde 07: The Joining
by Concolor44
Summary: Having narrowly escaped death, Karl and Wendy move to Canada, hoping to find peace.  But peace is in short supply, and their whereabouts are not as secret as they would like.  Sci-fi/ romance/ supernatural/ alternate universe/ drama
1. Chapter 1 Diaspora Part A

**Gone Wylde**

by Clint McInnes

_**Book Seven: The Joining**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**Chapter One – Diaspora – Part A**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

**PAST, n. That part of Eternity with some small fraction of which  
we have a slight and regrettable acquaintance.  
A moving line called the Present parts it  
from an imaginary period known as the Future.  
These two grand divisions of Eternity,  
of which the one is continually effacing the other,  
are entirely unlike.  
The one is dark with sorrow and disappointment,  
the other bright with prosperity and joy.  
The Past is the region of sobs, the Future is the realm of song.  
In the one crouches Memory,  
clad in sackcloth and ashes, mumbling penitential prayer;  
in the sunshine of the other Hope flies with a free wing,  
beckoning to temples of success and bowers of ease.  
Yet the Past is the Future of yesterday,  
the Future is the Past of tomorrow.  
They are one – the knowledge and the dream. **

**-Ambrose Bierce, **_**The Devil's Dictionary**_

##

_** Saturday 04 February, 11:46am **_

No more than about nine minutes of actual flight time had elapsed before Karl spotted the landscape features he was looking for. They came in smoothly at the southern point of Lac Mékinac, one of the long, narrow bodies of water gifted to the landscape by a retreating glacier several thousand years before. By the time they reached the northern shore, the turbofan had kicked into position, nudging them up onto land at a brisk hundred and thirty klicks.

Karl glanced over at her and asked, "You make the trip okay?"

She shrugged, not looking at him.

"No bruises? No motion sickness?"

One slight shake of her head and a fixed stare out that side of the windshell was all the response he got. He accelerated to about a hundred and eighty klicks and set a course a little east of north. Neither occupant spoke for the next hour or so until they came in sight of a town.

"Where are we?"

His ears perked at her question. "That's Hébertville. One of the little hamlets around Alma. But we're not …"

"No, I mean, what province?"

"Quebec."

"… Hmh."

Steering around to give the compact municipality a wide berth, Karl passed it in favor of an even smaller town to the northeast.

"Karl?"

"Yes?"

"I need to pee."

"Okay. We're almost there."

"Where is 'there'?"

"Larouche. But that's really just the closest village. My place isn't in town."

Shortly they came in sight of a rambling log-built chalet. Karl maneuvered the powersled around to the rear of the building and pulled up next to a stretch of barbed-wire fence. The fence posts were wood, mostly lengths of small trees or large saplings, and only the topmost fifteen or twenty centimeters protruded from the snow. Stopping beside one near the middle of the row, he opened the windshell and leaned out, performing a quick maneuver that Wendy couldn't see. The top of the post flipped back to reveal a keypad. His fingers flew through a lengthy passcode, and then he shut the cover, returning the post to its former bland anonymity.

Pulling her blanket up around her head, Wendy said, "Do you _mind?_ It's colder here than it was in Vermont!"

"Sorry. This won't take a minute." Closing the shell again (and turning up the heat in the cockpit) he prodded their vehicle around until it snuggled up under a long, low porch that ran the length of the building's back side. Then he opened the shell, hopped out, and stared briefly into a small opening beside the back door. There was a very subdued click, and then Karl held out his paw to the vixen. "Shall we?"

She let him help her out and into the house. It was comfortably warm inside, and she gave him a quizzical glance.

Noticing her expression, he turned to face her. "What?"

"This …" she said, indicating the room with a paw, "… this is yours, I take it?"

"Yes."

"You come here often?"

"I haven't been here in person since the eighth of September, 2014."

"And yet you keep the heat on. And the air smells fresh."

"I signaled the house to turn up the thermostat when we were half an hour out. The central air unit has a HEPA filtration system. Cuts down on the necessary cleaning."

That bought him a level look and a bemused shake of her head. "So, where's the bathroom?"

"Through here." He opened a door to reveal a short hallway. "First room on your left."

A few minutes later she found him going through the cabinets in the Spartan kitchen, and asked, "What are you doing now?"

"Making a grocery list."

Pulling one of the two chairs away from the table, she directed, "Sit."

"What?"

"Right here. Sit. Now."

Sensing that an argument would do him little good, he sat.

"Take your shirt off."

"Do you really think that's appropriate, given the …"

"Don't even start. I want to look at your bullet hole. Maybe you can just ignore the pain or something, but it needs to be treated."

"Oh … um …"

"No 'buts'. Off. Now."

With a small sigh, he complied. Wendy located the spot where she'd felt blood, found the dried patch, and began a short search for the source. She was soon frustrated in that task. "What the hell? This _is_ the right arm. I _know_ damn well you got hit … didn't you?"

"… I did."

"Where? I thought you were bleeding from your bicep."

"Likely I was."

"But there's no hole where there ought to _be_ a hole."

"No. There isn't."

Staring at him narrowly for several seconds, she finally plumped down into the other chair. "So. I was right."

"About what?"

"About everything. You _are_ different."

"I … suppose you could look at it that way."

"You're fast, and strong, and some kind of freakin' super-genius. And to top it off, you … what? You're bullet-proof?"

"Not exactly."

"You heal _really_ fast? Like that movie character?"

"… Yes."

Picking up his shirt, she looked at the arm, noting the two holes in the sleeve where the bullet passed through. Splatters and streaks of blood covered the exit-wound side. Then she noticed three other holes on the chest, and her eyes widened. Dropping the garment, she prodded at his right pectoral area for a few moments, which he stoically endured. At length she sat back and said, "Okay. Spill it."

"Spill what?"

Her paw shot out and grabbed one of his ears, and she pulled his face down to within a centimeter or two of her own. "Do _**not**_ _fuck_ with me. Like it or not – and I _don't_ like it – from here on out I'm part of whatever it is you're involved with. Your … _activities_ have cost me my home and my livelihood. The very _least_ you owe me is a full explanation of why. And skip the bullshit."

He stared at her for quite a while as the gears hummed in his head; but he couldn't see a way out, and finally gave up. "Okay. You're right. If they come after me, they'll come after you, too." He vented a prolonged sigh and asked, "What would you like to know?"

"To start with, are you real?"

"Real? What kind of question is that?"

"I mean a real fur. You aren't a clone or a robot or something, are you?"

"No!"

"Oh, spare me the injured look. I consider it a little disingenuous to sound so surprised at _that_ question. After all the crap I've seen today, on top of what I already knew, it's a natural assumption." She took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose. "So … who did you work for? The government?"

"Yes. We were attached to the ISB. But our group had … a high degree of autonomy."

"What did you do?"

"Anti-terrorism."

"So … 'we'? Are there more like you?"

"Not _exactly_ like me, no."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"Okay. Think about this: for the past hundred years or so, national governments have been interested in producing a superior soldier. More durable, more adaptable."

"Durable. Right. There are three bullet-holes on the front of your shirt, none on the back, and none in your chest. Explain that, please."

"Um … I've got a … sort of a … it's like body armor. It's under my skin."

She barked a short laugh. "Body armor. But not the kind you can take off?"

"Hardly."

"Cute. What's it made of?"

"It's an organic hyperpolymer based on my connective tissue. No danger of rejection that way."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, and she didn't say anything to that immediately.

He continued, "Our people have …"

"That's why you gave me that look, isn't it?"

"… What look?"

"Hang on." She dug around in one of her large apron pockets and came up with a battered copy of her part of the script. Thumbing through it briefly, she stopped and nodded to herself. "Yeah, here it is. When I cooked that chicken-from-hell recipe for you. If I'd fed that to any normal fur he would have needed medical attention. You didn't turn a hair, and when I asked if you were made of hyperpolymer, you gave me this really startled look."

"Oh. Yes. Your comment took me by surprise, being so close to the truth."

"Guess so."

He gave a nod to the book as she dropped it back into her pocket and asked, "You always have one of those with you?"

"Pretty much. On me or close by. Pays to be able to refer to things when I need to. Case in point."

"Doesn't it get kind of heavy?"

She pulled it back out and showed it to him. "I had Mac print one for me on onionskin in seven-point type."

"Okay. Compact little thing."

"Yeah."

"Well. Anyway, our people have been working on physical enhancements since at least the early seventies. This is one of them."

"You mean like something along the lines of the Six-Million-Dollar Fur?"

"Eh … no. That was _really_ off the hook. We don't have that level of technology _now_, much less forty years ago. But what they did go after was a kind of biological augmentation."

"Oh. So your … enhancements?"

"We called them Augments. We were Augmented."

"Augments, then. Your Augments are biologically based? No cyborg stuff going on?"

"Not really, no."

"What does 'not really' mean? Do you have artificial parts or not?"

"Uh … well, technically I guess I do. The docs … erm, you could say that they effected some changes. They grew bio-crystalline struts in most of my voluntary muscles and connective tissue. And they altered my skeletal system. Beefed it up with various metals and ceramics."

"Struts? Like truss members?"

"Yes. Well, sort of. To lend additional tensile capability to the fibers."

"Bio … what?"

"Bio-crystalline."

"Bio-crystalline struts." She rolled the words slowly around her mouth for taste.

"Correct."

"That's why you're so strong?"

"That's a lot of it, yeah. They increased my strength potential by a factor of about eight. But I do have to work out to maintain peak efficiency."

"Eight? You're eight _times_ as strong as you were?"

"Roughly."

"So … what, you could lift, like, a ton?"

"Without too much trouble."

"Huh. They put these strut things _**in**_ your muscles?"

"That's what I said."

"Didn't that hurt?"

"More than I care to think about."

"How big are they?"

"Tiny. Almost microscopic. There's one in or alongside each strand of muscle fiber."

A tentative paw reached to squeeze his bicep. "Tense your arm."

He complied and she poked at him for a moment, then sat back. "Damn. That explains a lot."

"Satisfied?"

"That's a helluva trick. I'm surprised you survived."

"Oh, that wasn't the first thing they did, not by a long shot. We spent nearly a year getting injected with all kinds of hormones and drugs and enzymes and tailor-made genetic crap. The idea was to give our immune systems a major boost and to help keep us alive during our missions. And they succeeded well beyond their most optimistic predictions."

"Oh. So first they fixed it so you'd heal up nicely, _then_ sliced you open and stuck in all the hardware. That's pretty cold."

"A rather crude summation, but fairly accurate; although there wasn't any slicing involved."

"… Oh … well … how did …"

"It was a little like they way they can use chelation to counteract heavy-metal poisoning, only in reverse. Our muscles were altered genetically so they would accept the struts. Then we were injected with the raw ingredients, which they manipulated by using a variant of magnetic resonance imaging to …"

"Whatever." She held up a paw to forestall further elaboration. "I doubt I could understand the explanation. And I don't really care about the details."

"Sorry."

" 's okay. Anything else?"

"Just the hyperpolymer sheath. That, they _did_ have to cut us open to install."

"Hmh. Super soldiers."

"In a manner of speaking."

He noticed that her gaze wasn't tracking him. She didn't say anything for almost a minute, so he rose and continued his inventory. Before too long she shook herself and said, "I'm gonna go prowl around the house. That okay?"

"Sure. The door to the basement is locked, though."

"Off-limits?"

"I'd, um, rather you didn't …"

She waved a careless paw. "No prob." And she disappeared out the door.

##


	2. Chapter 1 Diaspora Part B

_**Chapter One – Diaspora – Part B**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Saturday 04 February, 1:10pm **_

Completing inventory didn't take too long. After all, he didn't need to actually write anything down, and the list wasn't very extensive. The powersled was next on his list, and he spent ten minutes or so getting it stowed in the garage at one end of the house. Then he strapped on a pair of skis and made a quick circuit of the property, just to make sure that none of his alarms had been bypassed. After satisfying himself on that account, he went back inside and found Wendy sitting on the bed in his room upstairs. She was holding a framed photograph on her lap, staring at it. She looked up when he came in, and asked, "You've not been here in over two years, you said?"

"That's right."

"Then I'll assume this photo must be of Phoebe."

He walked over and sat beside her. The picture in question showed a vixen in a desert-camouflage bandeau lounging on a towel under a wide beach umbrella beside an expanse of turquoise water. Apart from her shorter headfur she looked exactly like Wendy.

"Yes, that's her."

"She's … um …" Wendy was going to say 'very attractive', but realized what that would imply.

"Beautiful, yes. And generous, and witty, and passionate and basically charming. I loved her beyond all reason. And she loved me."

"You said she was a co-worker. Was she one of you? Another Augment?"

"Yes."

"And she was murdered."

He just nodded.

"Did she … die on the job?"

Karl's sight grew distant as he slipped easily into Augmented memory . . . . . . .

. . .

_. . . . . . . The very second the bomb went off, obliterating the central portion of the terrorists' training camp, Beorn and Phoebe knew they'd been set up. There was no other explanation._

_ Gamma! They knew we were coming! _

_** News flash, Babe. Tell everyone to get the hell out! **_

_ But … Beorn … They're gone! _

_** Who? **_

_ All of them! The rest of the team! They're all dead! _

_** Dead? But how could … even Beta? **_

_ He's __dead!__ You think I don't know __death__ when I feel it? _

_** … Copy. Rendezvous base north, 800 meters. **_

_ But they're … they're all … _

_** Pull it together, Pheebs. Don't go all to shit on me now. Get moving. **_

_ … Roger. _

_He shifted to Augmented speed and plowed up the Libyan sand, heading northeast. Phoebe, who had been to the east of the camp, raced north and west to meet him._

_Her speed, though not in the same league with Sigma or Beta, allowed her to reach nearly eighty klicks for short bursts. The dunes slowed her a little, but didn't present much of a challenge … until she ran into a large patrol waiting on the far side of one of them._

_Placed there to mop up any stragglers, the jackals hadn't really expected to have to do anything … but that didn't mean they weren't quick to recognize a threat. They did their best to respond, opening fire immediately. Phoebe's rifle was already set to full-automatic, and she laid out half the squad in the first second of contact. She took several minor wounds, but finished off the last of them in the next five seconds. She spun in place, searching for other foes, and damping the pain of the bullets that had hit her, waiting on her healing factor to take care of them. She did not notice a second group that was dug in just down the dune. One of them pulled the pin on a grenade and started counting._

_** Rho! You okay? What happened? **_

_ Ran into some backup. Got peppered a little, but nothing that won't … _

_Unfortunately the fragmentation device was less than a meter from where she stood when it exploded. The force of the blast ripped the skin from much of that side of her body, and blew her a few meters away. Shrapnel riveted a dozen holes in her torso, and one large chunk went through her left femur, severing the leg._

_Her mental scream nearly deafened Beorn, who stumbled a bit, but changed his course instantly to her coordinates._

_The rest of the jackals crawled out of their hole and trotted over to where the vixen lay. One of them made a rough joke. The leader stepped forward and put a few rounds into Phoebe's gut._

_That's what Beorn saw when he topped the nearest dune. Four and a half seconds later, all eight of the jackals were dead or dying._

_** Shit! Rho! Phoebe! Are you there? Phoebe! Say something! **_

_Her answering sending was very weak. * * __hurts * *_

_** I'll get you out, Babe! Just hold it together! Please! Don't die! You **__**can't**__** die! **_

_She didn't respond, though he could feel a tenuous connection. He picked her up and held her close and ran like a sirocco back to the northwest._

_##_

_Alberto Conseca took a last swig from his canteen, capped it and tossed it into the back of the helicopter. Turning to his pilot, the Chihuahua asked, "What do they say, my friend?"_

_Cal Coon held up a paw as he listened to orders with one ear. A few seconds later he said, "Roger that, Command. We're outta here."_

_Alberto hopped up into the helicopter's cockpit and began to strap in. "Are we bugging out?"_

"_Yah. The 'beater's already haulin' ass. Command says the whole team got scragged."_

"_No shit! All of 'em? I thought that wasn't supposed to be possible."_

"_That's the word from Colonel Prosyonni. Reckon he oughta know. Said we needed to get out in a hurry 'cause there's a thousand loony ragheads on the way."_

"_I will not object to that, my friend." He checked out the navigation system while Cal got the engine going. "How much time do we have?"_

"_Few minutes, maybe fifteen. No more." He frowned, "You worried about ack-ack?"_

"_Should I not be? We may be silent, but we are nofur's idea of invisible."_

"_We'll be long gone, amigo. Not to …"_

"_Cal!"_

"… _I see him. Friendly, you think? He's signaling."_

_Alberto flipped down the infrared viewer on his visor and squinted at the approaching figure. "… I think that is Gamma."_

"_You're kidding! So one of 'em made it out?"_

"_He seems to be carrying someone."_

"_Command! This is Foxtrot-Bravo-Niner-Two-Niner. We have a member of Omicron approaching, repeat, one of them is still alive!"_

_The two airfurs waited, listening to their new orders, during the few remaining seconds until Beorn Gulo stopped beside their helicopter. Alberto hopped out onto the sand beside him._

"_Cal! Berto! Thank God you're still here! I thought … thought I heard our ride taking off a minute ago."_

_Cal Coon stared at the big wolverine. He'd never, but __never__ seen him cry over anything … but he was weeping openly now. "You did. They scrammed. We were about to follow. But now we have to get __you__ out." He looked at Beorn's burden. "Who's that?"_

"_Rho! She got hit."_

"_Ah. Yeah, I can see that. What a mess."_

"_We gotta get her back to the medicos!"_

"_Um … look, Gamma, we're just an observation team. This bird has a max payload of four hundred kilos. We can't fit both of you. I know you two were close, but …"_

_Beorn looked up at the pilot through hot tears. "Well, take her instead."_

_Alberto piped up, "No can do, Gamma. Got to get you out. Orders."_

_Beorn shoved the copilot out of the way, opened the rear door and laid Phoebe's inert and bloody form on the flooring. "Take her. Take good care of her. I'll walk out."_

"_Walk__ out? Are you nuts? Think you're Superfur?"_

"_Just shut up and fly."_

"_Gamma, in about fifteen minutes this patch is gonna be covered wall-to-wall with heavily-armed, wild-eyed fanatics. And you __ain't__ gonna be here. As it is, even with only the half-tank of fuel left, I'll barely be able to clear the dunes. With her body on board, we'd have zero chance."_

"_I told you, I'm walkin'. Now get airborne."_

"_Gamma, she's dead! I know she's your girlfriend, but she's dead. And so will we be if we stick around!"_

_Through gritted teeth, Beorn said, "She's not dead. She'll be fine. So get the sodding hell outta here." His expression brooked no argument. "__**NOW!**__" He slung his massive rifle and turned to go. _

_The pilot looked askance at the shattered remains of what had once been a gorgeous vixen, and shook his head. "Gamma, I got my orders." He slipped a paw into one of his pockets, curling it around the scrambler, thinking _I wish I didn't have to do this._ "One way or another, I ain't leavin' without you."_

_The huge wolverine whirled back to face him. Reaching out one long arm, he grabbed a pawful of flight jacket and yanked the diminutive raccoon off his feet, up to eye-level. The copilot yelled something he ignored. "If you don't feel like gettin' gone, that's your choice. I can fly it myself, and you two can stay here and entertain the wackos." He started to pitch the pilot away._

_But Smilin' Cal Coon had awfully good reflexes himself. He pulled the slim rod from his pocket and jammed the end of it into the wolverine's forearm. Colonel Prosyonni had made sure each evac team had at least one, explaining that the Augments had a tendency toward instability and that one of them might go berserk. The scrambler rods were a precaution; one which Cal was mighty glad to have, considering how things turned out._

_Beorn gave a strangled yelp and fell, twitching, to the ground. The jerking quickly stopped, and he lay still._

_Alberto helped Cal up from where he'd fallen and laid a paw on his shoulder. "You okay, amigo?"_

_Cal rearranged his jacket and nodded. "Just a little squished is all." He went over to the chopper and pulled Phoebe's body out to flop onto the sand. Walking back to where Beorn lay sprawled, he said, "Help me get this monster into the bird. We're runnin' outta time."_

_Three minutes later they were speeding away from the attack zone, just ahead of the first wave of terrorists. The tiny fragment of consciousness that Phoebe had kept open registered the receding sound of the helicopter's engine, but she didn't have enough energy left to be distressed, or to be worried or frightened a few minutes later when the jackals found her. Shortly thereafter, she ceased to care about anything, ever again. . . . . . ._

_. . ._

". . . . . . . Yeah. She did."

"I'm sorry."

He shuddered and gave a resigned shrug. "The Cartel had an informer in the ISB. He managed to get the … the fur in charge of the operation to … compromise security."

"Wow."

Karl shivered again and brought his gaze back to the present.

Wendy asked, "How'd they do it?"

"What, infiltrate the ISB?"

"No. Although I'm sure that's an interesting story, too. No, how'd the ISB get all of you together for this … super squad. Omicron, you said?"

"Yeah. Omicron Platoon. It was simple. They called for volunteers. It was billed as an elite team of anti-terrorism agents, and only the best of the best need apply. I was a field agent, and a damned good one, and I had an axe to grind, so I joined up."

"So you were one of the best even before all this … stuff was done to you?"

"Yes. You will recall that I told you a little about my upbringing."

"Yeah, I remember. Your dad and his project."

"Correct. I had the equivalent of eight years worth of college under my belt by the time I was fifteen – math, physics, chemistry, logic, rhetoric, history, economics, civics, psychology, blah-blah-blah. Comparable to a couple or three undergrad degrees. Plus, I was proficient at two different martial arts, and spoke three languages fluently. I knew how to pick a lock, how to build a log cabin, how to track a fur through the woods, how to repair just about any engine you'd commonly find in a vehicle, et cetera, et cetera, ad naseum."

"And you decided to take that talent to the government?"

"Not at first, no. I bummed around the country for a year and a half …"

"Wait. When did you come to the U.S.?"

"When I was ten. New York City. Father thought it would be a good base of operations."

"Okay. So, a year and a half."

"Yes. I enrolled at Cal-Tech and got a BS in Chemical Engineering."

"I knew it!"

"Yeah, well. They didn't teach me anything I hadn't already gone over. No big deal."

"Right. Sure. What then?"

"I went to work for Westmon-Hightower doing research. Stayed with that a while before …"

"Stop. Westmon-Hightower?"

"Right."

"Didn't they make camera film?"

"Among several hundred other things."

"But … wait a minute. They went out of business."

"Actually they were bought out."

"Yeah, okay. Some time back in the … the early eighties. I remember because Mom had stock in 'em, and it tanked. We had to move. She cried over that."

"That's right. The stock took a dive because the company that bought them was already in trouble and it was a bad move."

"And you worked for them."

"Yes. Until 1974."

"… Nineteen … seventy … Karl?"

"Yes?"

"How old are you?"

He gave her a level stare and then shrugged one shoulder. "In for a penny, in for a pound. I was born on the thirty-first of October, 1949."

"You're … sixty-seven?"

"Yes."

"_**Holy shit!"**_

"Well … I did say I was older than you."

"But … yeah, I know, but … sixty-seven! You're twenty-five _years_ older than I am!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's a weird thing. Why do you seem so young?"

"Because of what they did to us. I was getting to that."

"I'm all ears."

"Right. As I said before, they worked on us for nearly a year with their potions and injections and radiation and I don't know what else. They made some fundamental changes in the way our immune systems worked."

"Super-charged it?"

"Yes. I haven't had so much as a case of the sniffles since 1999."

"That's a … useful characteristic."

"Oh, it doesn't stop there. They did a much better job than they thought they could. There's hardly a poison in existence that could do much more than give me a bit of a dizzy spell. And my liver processes ethanol so quickly, I can't get much of a buzz no matter _what_ I drink."

"Huh. That sucks."

"Well … not usually. But there have been times."

"So … you _are_ sorta-kinda bullet proof. And you heal in … well, less than an hour."

"More like a few minutes."

"Minutes." She nodded her head a few times, looking through him. "Wow. And that's what makes you appear young?"

"It's not just appearance. The process actually had a revirescent effect. My fur had begun to turn gray here and there, but that all fell out and it grew back as you see it now. As far as I've been able to tell, my body isn't aging at all, in the usual sense of the word. On a cellular level, the process that …"

Her stomach took that opportunity to give forth with a loud growl, startling her.

Karl's muzzle curled up. "Been a while since breakfast?"

"Been a while since supper. I didn't have much of an appetite when I woke up. And lunch … um …"

"… Lunch got interrupted. Hm. Well, I must admit that my stores are on the weak side. I've got some emergency rations, but nothing you'd be interested in, I'm sure. We'll need to take a trip to town anyway, to stock up. We might as well get a bite while we're there."

She gave a half-hearted shrug.

He noted how subdued she'd suddenly become at the mention of the late excitement at the Inn. "There are nine decent restaurants that I know of in Alma, and a couple of them are quite good. Possibly even up to your standards. But then, I haven't eaten here in quite a while."

She didn't seem to be up to making decisions, allowing Karl full rein in his choice of eateries. He pulled a large snowmobile out of its storage bay and tinkered with it for a few minutes, then they both got on and roared off.

##

_** 2:37pm **_

Karl's memory of _Le Bordelais_ was accurate. It hadn't changed appreciably in the almost three years that had elapsed since his last visit; but then, that was to be expected, given its location in the Hôtel Universal, smack in the middle of downtown.

Despite her mood, Wendy's appetite couldn't easily be ignored; the grilled fillet was exactly what it needed. Karl did his best to make small talk, studiously navigating the topics around any mention of Ash Creek Inn and what had happened there a scant three hours earlier. His companion seemed disinclined to take part in the conversation, preferring instead to see if she could get plastered. An Old Fashioned and a Rusty Nail went down before the meal, followed by two bottles of wine with the food; she chased that with a Screwdriver and two Long Island Teas. Considering the circumstances, Karl didn't have the heart to say anything about it.

For her part, the vixen was determined to stay in 'think-about-it-tomorrow' mode until she could come to grips with the magnitude of this upheaval. And since this was Karl's fault, he could bloody well entertain her while she got things sorted out in her mind. If she ever did.

##

_** __3:15pm **_

Not that he felt there was any immediate danger of discovery, but Capra took the time to set up an official "roadblock" that kept traffic away from the Inn. He made a very quick survey of the damage, got what he hoped was an accurate body count, and reported in to Rajid.

"No, Capra, I do not want you staying there tonight. I have a containment crew en route. They will be there at oh-three-hundred, and I want you out of sight and undetectable until then."

"Yer da boss. I don't t'ink dere's no chance o' anyfur pokin' aroun', but if dat's w'at ya want, dat's w'at ya git."

The canine swapped his used-up stogie for a new one, strapped everything down onto the snowcat, and headed back to his duplex … tracked from some distance by a pair of bloodshot eyes. When the engine's echoes had died away, the gaunt timber wolf slunk out of the forest fringe and plowed his way over to the road. He paused there, staring at the huge house before him, until his sensitive nose drew him forward, pulling him toward the delicious aroma of blood.

##


	3. Chapter 1 Diaspora Part C

_**Chapter One – Diaspora – Part C**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Sunday 05 February, 11:05am **_

FIA Special Agent Michelle Moreno wasn't the sort to hold a grudge. Such a burden, she reasoned, was always heavier than necessary, and tended to color one's judgment. This situation, however, was different. And besides, she didn't consider it a grudge. It was more in the way of a quest. She touched the button mic beside her ear and said, "Team Charlie!"

"This is Charlie."

"Position?"

"Eighteen hundred meters east by northeast of Vergennes city center. Trail is still good."

Michelle acknowledged the information and gave a thumbs-up to the pilot of their small helicopter. She switched channels and hit the call button. Captain Todd answered immediately. "You got something, Michelle?"

"We're on the trail. Charlie says it's fresh."

"_God_, I hope we get this bastard today!"

"You and me both, Cap."

"If you spot him from the air, go ahead and shoot."

"Worry not your fuzzy li'l head, Cap. My plasma rifle's all tanked and ready to go."

"Glad to hear it. Out."

Banking a little north, their craft started descending gradually, matching course to the vector Team Charlie had laid down. In somewhat less than a minute, Michelle spotted Ash Creek Inn.

The pilot observed, "Busy place."

"Yeah." She wasn't quite sure what to make of the scene below them. A dozen or so snowmobiles stood between a pair of large, black, twin-shafted helicopters whose make she didn't recognize. Several furs in haz-mat suits were working around the rambling mansion.

"Hey, Moreno, you got any clue who those guys are?"

"None whatsoever. But them being there makes me think we're too late. Again." She huffed a frustrated breath and said, "Set her down there, on that road."

##

Capra managed to get a bit of sleep before his rendezvous with the containment unit, but the eight hours since their arrival hadn't been any fun at all. To start with, the crew chief reported a different body count. One of the corpses in the house was missing. And two of them had been extensively chewed on.

Initially, most of the furs in the crew figured that a feral bear must have gotten into the house and dragged off the missing corpse. Two slight problems with that theory had surfaced: the forensic guys determined that the corpse had not been dragged off, but carried; and the most likely prints they found on the premises wear neither ursine nor feral. The interloper's trail led out the back of the house and down to, and then across, the creek. Per Capra's earlier description, the missing corpse was a large bear, at least a hundred and fifty kilos. That weight hadn't seemed to give the one carrying it any difficulty, which fact disturbed many in the crew. They were aware that Gulo had some special abilities, extraordinary strength numbered among them, but the thought that there might be _two_ out here like him was hardly comforting. They set about casting a perimeter that included motion detectors and infrared units, just in case he decided to return.

They were in the process of packing up Wendy's computer and all her hardcopy records for later examination when word came that a FIA chopper was landing on the road. Capra ran to the front door and peered out while he called Rajid.

"Hey, Raj, ya send any FIA types out dis way?"

"FIA? Of course not! They know nothing. And I would very much like to maintain that status quo."

Capra outlined the situation. "An' two o' da crew's headed out dere now."

"It will help if you can discover their unit affiliation. Most probably they are here on an unrelated case."

"Out heah? In da dead middle o' nowheah? Ya's pullin' m' leg."

"You have a point. Nevertheless, I feel sure that if the FIA had any knowledge of our operation, I would be aware of it."

"I'll let ya know." He flipped the PA shut and stuck it in a pocket as he exited the building.

Two of the crew members tooled up in front of the porch, an FIA agent on each snowmobile. The one in front leaped gracefully up onto the steps and met Capra halfway.

"Good morning. Are you Capra?"

"Dat's me."

She stuck out a paw. "I'm Michelle Moreno, Special Agent with the FIA. Your man here tells me you guys are ISB?"

"Yeh, dat's right." Upon hearing the feminine lilt in her voice, he gave her the once-over while shaking her paw; however the bulky parka let slip no secrets. He noted the long plasma rifle she had slung across her back, but didn't comment on it. "Ya wanna come inside? Dis wind's a killah."

"Thank you." She preceded him into the house. Her pilot followed with three of Capra's furs.

"We got a room set up wit' a salamandeh. Central heat's out in da house."

She only nodded at his statement. Even behind her dark glasses, he could see her keen observation of the condition of the huge house. They continued several steps in silence until she asked, "How many did you lose?"

"Lose?"

"Yes. How many of your agents did he kill?"

That stopped him. He turned to face her. "Whaddya talkin' about?"

"You don't have to pretend nothing happened. I've been tracking this … _thing_ … for months. From the blood and the damage, it's pretty obvious he was here."

"He?" Capra was beginning to find this conversation very strange. "He, who?"

"The wolf."

"… Wolf?"

"Yes. I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner. I thought we were closer than this." She shook her head ruefully and continued, "He left a good trail. Did any of your boys get a decent look at him?"

Capra was glad the terrorists' bodies had all been removed. He cleared his throat and said, "I t'ink ya might be chasin' down da wrong rabbit."

"How so?"

"It wuddn a wolf dat did dis. I was here an' saw da whole t'ing."

Now it was Michelle's turn to be confused. "But … we followed him. His trail led right to the house. You must have … I mean …"

Capra held up a paw and motioned for one of the furs standing nearby. "Wayne? Ya said da tracks was made by a wolf, dincha?"

The meerkat nodded. "Yep. Big one."

"So he _was_ here!"

"Keep ya shoit on. Dat ain't da point. If yer trackin' what it looks like yer trackin', he didn' get here til after da fat lady sang."

"… I don't understand. How did …"

"Look, can we get on inta where da heat's on? I ain't wearin' my arctic getup."

"Of course. I'm sorry." They turned into the library where the containment crew had set up the big heater, having chosen it due to all its windows still being intact. Sighing in relief, Michelle unslung the plasma rifle so she could lay it on a table, and quickly shucked out of her parka. She stepped to the front of the salamander and luxuriated in its heat, stretching languidly. Capra's eyes widened quite a bit, and he noted a sharp gasp from Wayne.

The lemur hybrid turned back to him, arms akimbo. "So. You say the wolf didn't toss this place?"

Recovering his composure, Capra replied, laconically, "Nope."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Yep. But lissen, w'at makes ya t'ink he coulda done it?"

"Because the house is trashed, there's blood all over the place, and ample evidence of lots of gunfire. Somebody put up a hell of a fight."

"Huh. An' dis character's done dis sorta t'ing before?"

"Several times."

"He must be hell on wheels."

"In a manner of speaking."

"An' he tears up a place … as bad as dis?"

"Yeah. He can. Although he doesn't operate that way," she responded, jerking a thumb toward the hall.

"W'at way?"

"Shooting the place up. Someone's automatic rifle did a number on the floor and walls. A couple of them, I'd wager."

"Yeah? So?"

"Our wolf doesn't use weapons."

A cold chill muscled its way up Capra's spine. "Ya don't … ya don't say."

"I do say." Pointing at the plasma rifle, she continued, "That's why I've got this baby. We've hit him with just about every kind of standard ordnance you can put through a portable firearm, and the best we've managed to do so far is to make him run away." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm betting he _won't_ run away from this."

"Whoa! Hold da phone! Ya _shot_ him?"

"You kidding? He's been turned into Swiss cheese more than once. He lost enough blood in the last month to supply an ER on a busy night in East L.A. All it ever seems to do is piss him off."

Capra stared at her in disbelief for a pawful of seconds, then swung around to two of his operatives. "Yez got da motion d'tectehs in place?"

"Just up and down the road. There are still so many of our guys out working we thought …"

"Bring 'em in, and get da rest o' da grid operative. What's yer overlap on da infrareds?"

"Sixty percent, most areas. A little sparse on the north side."

"Make it two hundred. Up each patrol to a squad. I want a double-A loaded wit' hi-ex in ever' squad, an' keep da autos hot." He whipped out his PA and hit the '1', then turned back to Michelle, asking, "I'll bet he's fast, too, ain't he?"

"Fast? You mean running?"

"Yeh. Like t'ree or four times as fast as a normal fur can move?"

"Well … yeah. How'd you know?"

The PA beeped and a voice said, "Rajid here."

"Raj, we got us a issue."

"With the FIA?"

Capra stole a peek over in Michelle's direction. The exotic femme was listening keenly. "Nah. Not ezzackly. Seems dey're trackin' some sort o' Augment, an' it sounds like he went rogue, big time."

"Augment?" Michelle echoed. "What's an Augment?"

"Um … Sorry." Capra sent another quick glance her way. "Classified."

Rajid asked, "What is your current level of intel on the rogue?"

"Spotty."

"Sightings?"

"Negative. FIA contact only at dis point. But dey been chasin' 'im f' weeks."

Michelle crossed her arms and said, "Are you saying you've dealt with things like this _before?_"

He lowered his voice to Rajid and said, "See whatcha can dig up, Raj. I'll hafta get back witcha in a bit."

"Make it a _brief_ bit. Out."

The FIA agent was incensed. "So the ISB might be _responsible_ for this creature?"

"Don't be gettin' ahead o' y'self. Dem chicks is still eggs."

"Do you have any idea how many furs this thing has _killed?_"

"Look, I _know_ he ain't one o' ours. We got 'em all tabbed."

"But you do admit you've turned out … _things_ like him before?"

"Dat's classified, too."

"Well, then, where did he come from?"

Capra put away the PA and said, "Miz Moreno, how much hard info does da FIA have on dis wolf? Do ya know his name?"

She gave him a cold stare and said, "Sorry. Classified."

His muzzle twisted in repressed humor. "Hey, it's all da same ta me. In my book he was just a Johnny-come-lately party crasher. Ya wanna play it dat way, go ahead. But we got a investigation goin' on here, so if you an' yer furs could just toddle along …"

His PA beeped again. He flipped it open and met the gaze of one of the squad leaders. "Yeh, Sergeant, whatcha got?"

"Big group of snowmobiles just broke out of the forest to the northwest."

Capra looked at Michelle. "Yours?"

"Probably Team Charlie. I'll check." She touched the com unit in her ear.

"Right. Sarge, hold 'em at da perimeter. Agent Moreno's gonna go talk to 'em."

Michelle took a step toward him. "Wait. _'Go'_ talk to them? What do you mean by that?"

"Like I toldja, Ma'am, we got a ongoin' investigation. If yez need ta poke around outside, go fer it. But da house is off-limits fer da time bein'."

"Are you nuts? We're tracking a super-powered _serial killer!_ Do you have any idea of the scope of this effort? Besides the FIA we've got National Guard and State Police and three militias and …"

"Dat's great. I'm rilly happy fer yez. But what _we_ got here is a national security issue, an' dis place is classified til we decide uddehwise."

"National security? How can it be national security?"

"Ya wuddn lis'nin'. Da wolf just happened across dis place after evert'ing else was over an' done. We got about a t'ousand loose ends ta tie up, an' we don't need any help."

Gaze narrowed, she regarded the shaggy ISB agent for three long breaths before activating the communicator. "Cap?"

"What's goin' on, Michelle? Team Charlie's in a holding pattern. I'm getting a lot of rumor, but we're a little short on facts."

"ISB is going on, that's what. They've got some little _project_ here right square across our path, and they're being … somewhat tight-lipped."

"Typical. Who's on point?"

"Guy named Capra."

"Huh. Heard the name. Don't know anything about him."

"You can file him under 'stubborn bastard' if you like."

Capra piped up, "Hey, Toots, I resemble dat remark!"

"_**You**_ keep out of this!"

"Whatevah. Jist take ya little confo outside." He pointed out two of his agents. "Would you gennelfurs show dis nice lady t' da door?"

"Don't bother." Tail held stiffly out behind her, she stalked out of the library.

Wayne raced to the door and watched as she steamed up the Main Hall, shrugging into her parka at the foyer. He turned back, caught Capra's eye and said, "_She's_ FIA? Can I get a transfer?"

"Dat's too much woman fer _you_, boyo. By t'ree er four pawfuls." He chuckled ruefully. "I t'ink she might be too much woman fer our whole damn team." Extracting his com unit, he added, "Might as well give Raj what details I got."

##

_** __elsewhere **_

_The Overlord monitored the astral turbulence, watching with mounting anxiety as it grew worse. The planar twist increased. The degree of intersection faded. His connection with his pawn stretched … stretched and dimmed._

_His control was slipping. He knew that if he pressed too hard he could lose contact altogether. That could __not__ be allowed to happen. He wanted the vixen too badly to __let__ it happen. And there was still that otherwhere, yet another plane beyond the feeding plane in which he'd so recently anchored. If only he could penetrate it! The slight nuances he'd received thus far promised lush opportunity._

_So be it. The pawn could have his small victory. The Overlord would relax his grip, pay out the line, let the sniveling thing think it had the upper paw. When the planes came back into alignment, as he knew they would, he would have his revenge. He would show the pawn the error of its ways in terms it would remember. He could wait. He'd been waiting for a very, very long time._

##

_** __Monday 06 February, late night **_

A sharp wind investigated the rocky hummock, poking around for entrance, finding none and streaking away. Inside the mound, down and between and among the great boulders, the detritus of years collected. Leaves and twigs and sand and the occasional tiny, desiccated corpse filled the spaces, except for one. That one, the work of an industrious bear, stood proof against the elements, tidy and secure, a perfect spot for hibernation.

But now the bear was dead, and his hole had a new occupant.

_The others speak more clearly today._

That had not happened in … well, he couldn't remember very clearly. Much of his recent existence seemed little more than a fog.

_The others want me to rest._

Resting would be good.

He had been tired for so very long.

But now he had food. He had this nice cave. He could stay warm and safe and hidden.

The others clamored, wanting him to petition the Master for time.

Time would be nice. Time to rest.

The idea did not seem so … absurd now.

Yes. He would ask the Master for time to heal, to grow strong.

In fact … he would insist.


	4. Chapter 2 Taking Stock Part A

_**Chapter Two – Taking Stock – Part A**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

**Grief has limits, whereas apprehension has none.  
****For we grieve only for what we know has happened,  
****but we fear all that possibly may happen.**

_**-Pliny, the Younger**_

##

_** Wednesday 08 February, 2:25am **_

Four nights and three days of trying to compensate Wendy for her loss had taken their toll. Normally Karl had his temper in an iron grip; he had to, considering what could happen if he were to let loose. But he was getting mortally tired of defending himself all the time.

Some part of each day would find him consoling her while she cried. Other times he would have to make himself scarce to avoid her wrath. He'd heard of situations like this, but it had always been associated with a pregnancy, and he had snickered along with the other childless fellows at the hapless father-to-be. It did not seem quite so amusing from this side of the fence. In any case, since she no longer possessed the ability to _become_ pregnant, that was out. But sometimes he wished, in a small way, that her violent mood swings might be traced to that state, if only to relieve him of the onus of knowing that his interference had brought her to this pass. Fortunately, she'd spent much of the last couple of days in her room, just sleeping. He had a monitor set up to let him know when her door opened, so he'd be able to get upstairs if she needed him.

For now, though, he was sequestered in the basement.

This safe house was not quite as well-appointed as the regional headquarters he'd left behind in Vermont, but it would do. The communications equipment was every bit as sophisticated, allowing him access to any number of information depots, both public and clandestine. That was how he found out about Capra's presence at the Inn four days previous.

The knowledge unnerved him. Additional digging through his avenues at the ISB turned up enough hints and references and allusions, now that he knew what to look for, to confirm that he'd been under surveillance for at least three weeks. They must have discovered his worm programs. That meant that they'd been feeding him a nice, big, smelly pile of buzzard barf for a while.

Also, that being the case, why was he still free? Quite a few of the top brass wanted him out of the picture, and the sooner, the better. Yet they'd done nothing more than monitor his movements. Why?

He would devote some energy to discovering the answer to that question. First, though, he wanted to know more about the terrorist group that found him. That might, he thought, turn out to be a little trickier, given their penchant for secrecy. However, once he had reviewed his various 'bait' sites and cross-referenced six or eight tons of data, their trail became fairly clear.

They'd found him via video from a website. He strongly suspected it might be related to one Mr. Forrester of _Vermont_ magazine, but couldn't immediately verify that. Through several thousand hours of leg-work and one lucky (unlucky?) break, they'd tracked him down. Karl chided himself for not being more observant. If he'd only taken the time to note that ferret's presence at Quinn's and run it through his mental index …

_No. 'If' is still the biggest word in the language. And one can never know what might have been. Useless waste of time._

Another disturbing bit of information that came to light during his quest was that the TFN had Wendy's name. It seemed that they were loosely connected with certain members of the Knights of the Pure Strain. Karl already knew of _their_ interest in the vixen, having squelched it at one point, and apparently the two organizations would occasionally share databases. So now the Trenchant Furs had some questions for her … questions they would rather ask in private, where no one could hear her screams.

That situation needed fixing, and soon, but it would take a great deal more research before he could act decisively. In any case, no one in the TFN knew where they were now. They were safe, for the time being.

He wrapped up his initial investigation, grabbed a large salami and a jug of tomato juice from the refrigerator, and stepped outside. It was late enough, and his house was far enough from the lights of town that he could make out the Milky Way without resorting to Augmented vision. Ambient temperatures hovered around thirty below (or as he liked to think of it, 'brisk') and the lack of thermal interference pinned each star unblemished in its place. He didn't rush his meal, taking small bites and chewing them contemplatively as he stared up at the myriad brilliant points, processing all he'd learned. Karl recalled that Yvonne had been an inveterate star-gazer, and often spoke of a wish to visit other worlds.

He didn't feel that way. There was more than enough variety on this planet to hold his attention. Especially of late.

##

_** Thurs__day 09 February, 3:00pm **_

Wendy was napping again. He tried not to let it concern him, but he was beginning to recognize the signs of chronic depression. Perhaps his current endeavor would serve, eventually, to cheer her up.

"Spando & Blodgett," said the voice on the other end of the line. "This is Greg."

"Greg Tremarc?"

"… Speaking. Who is this?"

"Karl Waverly."

"Oh! Karl! Wow, big guy, I haven't heard from you in a month of Sundays!"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Life gets in the way of the important stuff sometimes."

"Tell me about it. If I had a nickel for every friend I've lost touch with …"

"Yeah. Me, too."

"So what's shakin'?"

"Well … I've got a big restoration job and I think your company would be the right one to get it done to my satisfaction."

"That's good to hear. Business is always a little slack in the long cold, and repeat business is especially welcome. Where is it?"

"Vermont. A great big pile of a house a few klicks north of a little town called New Haven. Ever heard of it?"

"Nope. But that's what GPS is for. What's the address?"

Karl gave him the information. "But you'll need to hold off on the work until I give you the go-ahead."

"Gonna be a little difficult to give you an accurate estimate if I can't see the property, y'know."

"You should have a preliminary bill-of-material in your inbox."

"Oh. Um, hang on, lemme check." There was a forty-five-second period of hold music before he came back on the line. "Got it. And if I may say so, that's a helluva list."

"The house took a helluva hit."

"Must have. What happened? Flood? Fire?"

"No. You'll see once you get out there, but the short version is that it was a home-invasion that went south."

"Oh, crap! That's terrible! Anyone in your family?"

"No, thankfully. We're all unscathed. Which is more than I can say for the house."

"That's good to hear. I'm glad … um. Uh … this item here … item number twenty-four."

"Yes?"

"You got your decimal in the right place?"

Karl chuckled. "Yes. That's the correct figure."

"But that's like … what? Two truckloads?"

"Possibly."

"Karl? … Just how big _**is**_ this 'house' of yours?"

"Counting all three floors? A little over seventy-five hundred square meters."

"Holy crap! That's not a house, that's a shopping mall!"

"Yeah, it's pretty big."

"Just how much are you planning to spend on this thing?"

"I've got a fund set up for you to draw from for your expenses. The tracking info is on the last page of the BOM. Right now it has half a million in it. But I can add to that if need be."

There was silence on the other end.

"Greg? You there?"

"Yeah. I'm here, I'm just … hold on." Karl heard the pawset clatter onto a hard surface, and muffled voices in the background. In half a minute he was back. "I'm puttin' you on speaker."

"No prob."

"Karl? We clear?"

"Loud and."

"I got Benny with me here. He's my business partner."

"Cool."

"Listen, you wanna run that figure by him again?"

"Half a mil. More if necessary."

The new voice was Benny. "Greg just shoved this BOM in my paw about thirty seconds ago, so I haven't had much of a chance to look it over. But this is a _**lot**_ of stuff!"

"Hopefully enough."

"When do you need your quote?"

"Don't really need a quote. You'll be working time-and-material, and I'd like for you to go ahead and source the materials first. As I mentioned to Greg, you won't be able to start on the house right away. There are some legal measures I'll have to take first."

"Oh. Okay. I'll … um … wait a sec. This item number twenty-four …"

Karl chuckled. "You, too, huh? Yes, it's correct."

"And this is for _**one**_ house?"

"Three stories," interjected Greg, "and three quarters of a hectare."

"Good lord." Benny _harrumphed_ a few times and asked, "What's your time frame?"

"Not terribly soon. But I want for you to go ahead and get what you'll need. That's why I set up a draw for you."

Benny observed to Greg, "Trusting soul, ain't he?"

"Heh. You ain't met 'im. It'd be healthy not to make him mad."

"I think," said Karl, "that Greg exaggerates. But I've dealt with him before. He knows how to be discreet and we've had a good working relationship in the past. You're bonded. I'm not worried."

"Glad to hear it."

Greg asked, "So when are we gonna be able to start? Ballpark-wise."

"Ballpark, four or five weeks. I'll let you know."

"Works for me. It'll take nearly that long to get some of this stuff."

"I thought it might. So I'll leave you to it. You certainly don't need me interfering."

"Not sure I'd phrase it that way, but okay. We'll wait on your call."

Karl spent a good portion of the evening in the pleasant exercise of imagining the look on Wendy's face when she saw the Inn restored to its former glory.

##

_**__ Friday 10 February 8:45pm **_

Between Lake Carmi and the tiny hamlet of Franklin lies a sizeable tract of forest. While not exactly virgin wood, the level stretch of mixed oak, maple, and conifers hadn't seen significant disturbance in close to a century. Apart from boasting a rich variety of wildlife that drew the occasional hunter, nofur bothered to go there. It was as good a stopping place as any.

_Master has been good to me._

He felt as well-fed as he had in some time. The odd scars, or patches of missing fur, were the only indicators of the hideous wounds that had driven him to the cave. Tonight the mists that normally obscured his thoughts were thin and fleeting. Once more he knew purpose, not just craven fear. The alter he constructed reflected this newfound confidence.

He would search out a suitable sacrifice. No more the tiny, mewling animals, bright little sparks of fear that flared and quickly faded. He needed a sentient. He could smell them, not too far away, as he slunk through the undergrowth …

##

"Jes … um … Jesse?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"I gotta … gotta go-o-o-ooh, that's nice."

_nibble_ … "It's not," _nibble_ … "really all that," _nibble_ … "late, y'know."

"I know but … geez, that feels good … my uncle's here and … oh, do that again … I love … that rough tongue … he's waitin' to give me … ohhhhhh … my … ummm …"

The word 'uncle' percolated through the cloud of hormones and penetrated Jesse's brain. He pulled back and looked into her face. "Sarah? D'you say your uncle's here?"

The slight rabbit doe sat up and gave her head a practiced toss, settling a long, silky ear over either shoulder. She sent the cat a level look and replied, "Mm-hmm. Somethin' wrong with that?"

"This the uncle what owns a gun store?"

"Ayah. That's why he came over. He brought me my birthday present. Got me a SA-58 carbine in .308 and a bunch of ten-round magazines."

"Um … okay. Uh, listen, I just remembered I, uh, gotta go."

"What? No! Don't go! Come on to the house. I've told 'em all about you. Ain't nothin' ta be scared of."

"I ain't scared!"

"Well, come on, then."

"I, um, uh, can't … right now."

"You _are_ scared."

"I _ain't_ scared. I just gotta … got somethin' needs doin'."

She crossed her arms and pouted.

"Look, Sarah, I'll run you up to the end of the drive an' then …"

"Don't bother!" She flung open the door on the old pickup and jumped to the pavement, slamming it behind her.

Jesse watched her walk away, shrugging back into her parka, and debated with himself for several seconds, going back over a recent conversation he'd had with the uncle in question. But he soon decided that the prize wasn't worth the risk, put the truck into gear, and pulled slowly back onto the road, sighing deeply.

It was a decent little trek from the road to Sarah's house, nearly two hundred meters, but she rarely minded the distance. She was used to it, having walked it at least twice a day most of her life. Her thoughts were so focused on Jesse and his pig-headedness that she almost failed to pick up on the panic running through the family of feral rabbits on their property. She immediately turned her mind that way, chiding herself for her egocentricity. She and her close relatives had been able to communicate with their feral counterparts almost before learning to talk. Her father made it a point to keep any small game hunters well away.

Normally the warren would be quiet by this time of the evening, but now they were all a-bustle. _**[ [ Pum? What's up? Are you guys okay? ] ]**_

The answering sending was more chaotic than normal. Even on a good day, when the ferals had found grazing to suit them and nothing exciting happened, their small intellects tended to wander. It took a quick mind to carry on a conversation with them. Sarah thought it was fun. Usually.

_[ [ Hide! Hide! Hide! Hide! Hide! ] ]_

_**[ [ Hide from what? ] ]**_

_[ [ Hide! Hide! Bad thing! Sarah hide! ] ]_

The level of fear in Pum's sending pulled Sarah's hackles erect. She took a quick glance around and stepped up her pace. _**[ [ Where is the bad thing? ] ]**_

_[ [ Hide! Hide! Bad thing close! Hide! Hide! ] ]_

In another forty meters, Sarah would get to the last curve before coming in sight of her house. Spurred on by the rising terror in Pum's mind, she broke into a sprint, eyes on the big pine at the corner.

She never saw the massive black paw that came out of the night and bowled her tail over ears.

##

"There ya go, Eric. See how that feels."

"She's a real beaut, Pat."

"You ever fired one?"

"Once. Fella at tha range had a M1A. Super Match grade, just like this one. At a hundred meters I put ten rounds in a circle I could cover with two fingertips, and it didn't even have a scope." He bent and looked at the fine optical instrument lying in its case on the kitchen table. "Damn! That's a Zeiss Victory." He ran a finger down the matte-black length of metal. "That a range-finder model?"

"Ayah. 12X56. You know what you're doin', you'll _own_ anyfur inside eight hundred meters."

"What'd you give for that thing?"

"Close to half of what I give for the rifle. Tha combo, with case and six mags, is goin' for forty-five hundred."

Eric whistled and laid the magnificent weapon back in its molded-foam cradle. At that instant the two rabbits frowned and looked at each other.

_[ [ Hide! Hide! Poor Sarah! Hide! Hide! ] ]_

**[ [ ****What about Sarah?**** ] ]**

_[ [ Sarah not hide! Bad thing got Sarah! Hide! Hide! ] ]_

Eric grabbed the carbine his little brother had brought and ran outside. Pat took the M1A, paused briefly at his truck to stuff a few mags into the front pocket of his overcoat, tossing a couple to his brother. They headed into the dense wood, following the rabbits' sketchy directions as best they could.

##

Sarah never completely lost consciousness. Her head throbbed abominably and she couldn't focus her eyes, but she realized, groggily, that she was being carried. A foul stench hit her with almost physical force, and her dinner shortly decorated the back side of whoever had her over his shoulder. It didn't slow him down.

At some point she realized that he had stopped, but he didn't drop her. Instead, she felt her limbs being lashed to some sort of framework. It came to her that her parka was gone, and she was very cold. On some level she wished she could see what was going on, but heavy cloud cover and a high forest canopy rendered the darkness absolute. Her captor had to get right up in her face to secure her bonds, resulting in a fit of dry heaves, as she had nothing left to expel. It didn't take him long to fix her in place, and when he finished he stepped back.

Shivering, woozy, she didn't hear anything for nearly a minute. Maybe he had left? Maybe he was going after something, or some_one_, else? But that feeble hope was dashed when he started … chanting something. Yes, her captor was still there, in the dark, standing a few short meters away. She couldn't make out what he said. Maybe they were words, but nothing she'd ever heard before.

Slowly, directly in front of her, a faint glow built. It was nebulous and weak at first, building very gradually, swaying and … pulsing … an unhealthy glow, pale, fungal and nauseating. Then suddenly she could see him.

He was a wolf and he was huge, hairy and filthy and … glowing. The wolf, himself, was glowing with that awful, sickening light, an other-worldly silhouette of nightmare and lunacy.

_**[ [ Pum? You there? Pum! ] ]**_

Her mounting terror left her barely enough of a grip on her faculties to raise the question. But Pum's answer came instantly.

_[ [ Poor Sarah! Didn't hide! ] ]_

_**[ [ Pum, you gotta get Dad. Can you get Dad? ] ]**_

_[ [ Goodfella runs! Hide! Hide! Poor Sarah! ] ]_

_**[ [ Pum, I … ] ]**_

Her mind choked off.

The wolf raised his arms as his chanting increased in volume, and _**something**_ began flowing along his limbs, a black, viscous, slime that settled a chill dread in her heart. Every unseen monster from childhood, every urban-legend bogeyman, every fear of loss and grief and torment that had ever flitted through her mind coalesced into a gelid terror that tore a long and agonized scream from her throat. The bitter cold forgotten, she struggled wildly in her bonds, ropes cutting the flesh of her arms, but she didn't care, she would do anything – _anything_ – to get away. As he stepped slowly toward her the candent black ooze grew, flaring from his sides like a hideous pair of wings, running down his arms to the tips of his fingers, and beyond. The gelatinous tentacles reached for her …

And his muzzle disappeared in a pink mist, accompanied by two very loud and nearly-simultaneous reports. He staggered back, the glowing, black nimbus winking out, but three more shots followed the first volley, tearing huge chunks from his body, knocking him down and away.

Sarah was past reason, her screams and struggles unending. Her father and uncle ran up to her, Eric whipping out his knife to cut her loose while Pat went to examine the criminal they'd shot. He turned on his mag-lite to get a look at the corpse … which wasn't there. He swung a quick perimeter with the light, rifle at the ready, but there was nothing to see.

"Eric!"

His brother wasn't paying attention. "Hang on, baby, I've got you! Daddy's got you."

"Eric, he's gone!"

"Easy there, honey, it's okay, be still, I've got you." He had to hold her flailing arms and try to stroke her ears with one paw to calm her down.

"Eric!"

His big brother finally looked up at him. "What?"

"He ain't here."

"Wha … who? You mean tha perv?"

"Ayah. He's gone. Lots o' blood all over tha place. No body."

"Well unless he can run off with no head, he's gotta be around here someplace."

"Fine. You look for 'im."

"Nuh-uh. I'm gettin' Sarah t' tha hospital." He picked up his daughter. "Can you see after tha rifle?"

"Ayah. Hold it a sec. I'm walkin' with ya." He swung the carbine across his back and made sure his own weapon was ready. "Go ahead. Ain't nofur goin' by 'imself tonight. This is devil's work. Ain't nothin' natural could just run off after a clockin' like that."

##

The front left quarter of his head was simply gone. Most of his left arm hung from his shoulder like a sack of meal. Blind, deaf, all but senseless, he stumbled through the wood. He had no idea where he was going, nor did he care. He only wanted to get away from the awful pain. But his agony was behind every tree, under each footfall, battering him, beating him, driving him on, inescapable. No sensory clues gave him any indication of direction. The link with the Master had vanished. Nothing remained except the thousand pounding axes of maddening pain.

He came to the western shore of Lake Carmi and stumbled in, began swimming, heading he knew not where.

##

_** elsewhere **_

_Again? Once more, the sniveling lump of protoplasmic detritus had been injured. More delays, more energy expended in healing it, and without even a decent meal! It was not to be borne!_

_The Overlord monitored the astral link. Yet tenuous, it had begun to firm up ever so slightly of late. The planar skewing was beginning to right itself, as he knew it would. Soon he would regain total mastery over his puppet. Then it would rue the day it ever spoke the Summoning._

##


	5. Chapter 2 Taking Stock Part B

_**Chapter Two – Taking Stock – Part B**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Saturday 11 February, 7:10am **_

When Karl emerged from the basement, he found Wendy sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea. She looked up at him, and the expression on her face stopped him instantly. Hesitantly he said, "You're … up early."

"Haven't been to sleep."

"What? Why?"

"Been reading. I had to know."

"Know what?"

"Have a seat."

Karl sat, not liking her tone and afraid of what was about to come.

"You are good," she stated, muzzle twisting in distaste. "I'll give you that."

"Good? Good at what?"

"Lying, but without actually lying."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"This." She pulled out her copy of the script and let it thud to the table. "I've been back through the whole thing twice. As far as I can determine, you never once told me anything that could be strictly interpreted as untrue. And yet, for all that, you led me down any number of primrose paths, past the _real_ truth, to the fantasy you wanted me to believe." Shaking her head in wonder, she added, "That bit back in Chapter Six of Book Five? That was classic 'Purloined Letter'. You shoulda been a politician."

"Which bit would that be?"

"You know. Where you went all flippant and exaggerated and offered to … hang on." She picked up the document and flipped to the page in question. "Yeah. Right here. You were gonna spin me a 'tale of mad scientists and rogue government agencies and international intrigue' and blah-blah-blah."

"Oh. That."

"It was all true, wasn't it?"

He didn't want to meet her gaze.

She threw the book back down on the table. "_Wasn't_ it?"

"… Yeah. It was."

"_That's_ what I mean."

He leaned back and took a long breath. "What would you have had me do differently?"

"I want the _truth!_ Not bits and pieces, not the _skin_ of a truth taxidermied onto a pack of lies. The _whole_ truth!"

"Really."

"Yes!"

"And get you sucked into the war that constitutes my life even sooner than you did?"

"… What?"

"It wouldn't have been any different, you know. I'm just one fur. Skilled I may be, but I am drastically outnumbered by the opposition. It was a given that they'd find me eventually. I just didn't know exactly who 'they' would turn out to be." He leaned back and crossed one massive leg over the other at the ankle. "Actually it got kinda complicated these last few weeks. I'd always rather expected the ISB would find me first, and as it turned out, they did, nearly a month ago. They just didn't do anything overt about it because they were scared of what _I'd_ do. And if the guy in charge of the surveillance – who, by the way, just happens to be an old teammate of mine – hadn't fired off a percussion flare and warned us, we'd both very probably be dead right now."

"… Oh."

"And you say you _wanted_ to be a part of that?"

"… Uh … that is …"

"This situation," he continued, spreading his arms to include their surroundings, "is what I was trying to avoid. Simply by virtue of being identified as important to me, you become a target. I wanted to keep you at arm's length. I wanted to keep you safe."

"Oh, and we can see how wonderfully well _that_ worked."

"I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry I wrecked your house and I'm sorry I brought you here. _Had_ to bring you here. I'm sorry I've destroyed your life. Okay? I owe you a life." He gave a low snort and added, "You want mine? It isn't doing _me_ much good."

She paused in reflection, staring past him.

"Look, Wendy, I'm not asking for sympathy, but can you _try_, at least, to _understand_ my predicament?"

After a few moments she looked up at him again. "Fair enough. I'll concede your point. What about Martin?"

He frowned. "Martin?"

"Yes. Martin. Your protégé, or whatever he is."

"What about him?"

"Seems to me he'd be a weak link in your chain as well. You've known him a lot longer than you've known me. If anyone wanted to get your attention, all he'd have to do is get to Martin."

Karl sighed.

"In fact," said Wendy, "that is precisely what happened back in September."

"No, I'll have to disagree with you there. The purists took Martin because of his intervention on Miss Foxx's behalf. I had nothing to …"

"No, no. That isn't what I mean at all. I'm talking about your reaction."

"My …? Ah."

"Yes. Oh, I know they weren't _trying_ to get your attention, but that's how it fell out. You made quite a splash looking for him. Now that the bad guys know who you are and where you … well, where you _were_, don't you think they'll go after Martin, just to flush you out?"

"They might. I don't really think so, since we disappeared and no one in the TFN actually _knows_ what became of us … but they might."

"And what will you do about it if that happens?"

"I'll rescue him."

She quirked a skeptical eyebrow. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You sound awfully sure of yourself."

"Wendy, I spent many, many years in a constant fight with one terrorist organization or another. I've battled them on every continent, in or under every ocean. I dismantled the Cartel all but single-pawed, to the point that they are just lately starting to come back out of the woodwork. Not to toot my own horn, but I am, let us say, competent."

She ambled over and leaned against the edge of the counter, studying him. At length she asked, "Were the other members of your team as good at it as you?"

"I know where you're heading with that, and don't even bother. They'd all still be alive if the Cartel hadn't been able to infiltrate our command system. I no longer rely on others to direct my activities. And I don't _walk into_ ambushes. I set them _up_."

"Ah-huh. Stone-cold Karl. That about right?"

"This is too serious for teasing, Wendy."

"Which is my point! It's too serious for you to be keeping things from me. I need to know what might be coming down the road. All of it. Not just what you think I can 'manage'." She raised a paw to forestall his response. "It's too late for any other plan, Karl. I'm a big girl. I'm here. With you. Whatever happens, whether we can get away clean and start over somewhere, or we both die next week, we are in this together. If my life is hanging in the balance, I'd like to know why. At a _minimum_ you owe me the truth."

The seconds stretched out as he gazed into those clear, golden eyes. She looked tired, and not just from her recent lack of sleep. Stamped clearly on her features were the worry and frustration that she had expressed so often over the last week. He would have given anything at that moment to erase those marks.

"Okay. You're right. You deserve to know the lay of the land."

"Thank you." She sat and looked at him expectantly.

"Right now?"

"Business at the Café being a little 'off', I have no previous engagements at the moment."

"Ah-huh. Well. That being the case, do you mind if I get something to eat first?"

"I thought you had a stash of Power Bars down there."

"I did. I ate them."

"You're _always_ eating!"

"I'm frequently hungry."

"Yeah, but you never gain a gram. You know how many women would cheerfully murder for that ability?"

"It came with the territory. And frankly, I consider it something of a downside. I never ate anything _like_ that much prior to joining Omega. They pumped up my metabolism to maintain all the new 'features' in my 'upgrade'."

"And that's why you eat all the time?"

"It is. I don't have a choice. You might call me high-maintenance."

"Indeed. I might at that." She stood and went to the cupboard. "I'll feed you breakfast. You feed me information."

"Fair enough."

"To start with," she said as she began to lay out ingredients on the counter, "who or what is the TFN?"

##

_** Mon__day 13 February, noon **_

When they coasted in to a stop in the white field in front of the restaurant, Wendy found herself amazed at the number and variety of vehicles already there. She mentioned this to Karl, who pointed out that the locals had to deal with harsh winter weather for stretches of a few months or more. Snowmobiles were not luxury items.

He helped her out of the powersled and over to the raised walkway leading up to the restaurant's entrance, marked by a small, elegant sign that read, _L'Auberge Villa Pachon._ Removing her balaclava, she asked, "This is it, huh?"

"Ayah. Finest French cuisine in the area, five or six years ago. I looked up some info on it, and the critics still like it, so here we are."

"Well, I hope they have a fine ladies' room. My face feels like it's a mess. Did we _really_ have to drive thirty-five klicks just to eat lunch?"

"You'll be thanking me, once you've tasted their foie-gras-stuffed pheasant in black truffle sauce."

A sidelong glance was her only reply to that. They went inside and were shortly seated.

The meal turned out to be everything Karl had claimed and more. The atmosphere was calm and elegant, the service impeccable, the food of the highest quality. Yet she ate almost absently, as if she couldn't taste the perfectly prepared fowl. Her companion tried to enliven an increasingly dead silence, but soon was frustrated in this. Finally he asked, "Is there something I've done? Because if so, I apologize."

She looked up and focused on him. "What?"

"Have I offended you today? I didn't mean to."

"Offended? No. Why do you ask?"

"You're a regular statue over there. You haven't said ten words in the last twenty minutes."

"Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"About Arthur."

"Your ex?"

"Yeah."

"Is that apropos to our situation?"

"Kinda. He took me to a French restaurant in Philadelphia for our first Valentine's celebration, seven weeks before we got married."

"Oh." That stilled him. He hadn't anticipated the loony timber wolf intruding on their meal. "And this reminds you of that?"

"A little."

"I'm sorry."

"Eh. Not your fault."

"Maybe not, but I can still empathize with your position." He paused, brow furrowing, and then asked, "Did he _give_ you anything at that meal?"

"Give me anything? What, you mean like jewelry or something?"

"Sure. Or some other token."

"Uh … no. Not at the meal, he didn't. He gave me a brooch of his mother's a couple of days later. It was still a few days before Valentine's when we went to Philly. He had to fit it in around his work schedule."

"I see. So … if I were to give you something, that would be different, and wouldn't remind you so much of Arthur? Perhaps?"

"You? What do you mean?"

Karl reached into a pocket and pulled out a small box, which he laid on the table. Wendy's breath caught. She looked from the box to him and back to the box. "What's this?"

"I know an excellent method of discovering the answer to that question."

She reached across and took the box, shook it slightly, and then lifted the cover off. Her breath caught again. Gradually, gingerly she pulled the object out of the box, letting it hang in the air in front of her face. A thin chain of braided gold serpentine looped through a cunningly wrought metal knot of copper, silver, and black iron. The knot sported a large star sapphire in the center of its complex woven pattern. Wendy let it twist slowly, gazing at it in stupefaction.

"I hope you like it."

"Like it? It's breathtaking! This must have cost a bundle!"

"Truth to tell it didn't cost anything."

"How's that again?"

"A, uh … friend of mine made it. He gave it to me. I'm giving it to you."

"But … how could … I don't know, Karl. How can I accept something like this?"

"By putting it on, maybe?"

"No, it's … I don't … it's just that …" She looked at it hungrily. "It isn't that I don't _want_ to. Star sapphires are my very favorite gemstone. And this one is magnificent."

_Hmm. Her favorite? I'll bet Nicu knew that._ "So what's the problem?"

"Ah … um, well, to be frank, you are."

He sat up a little straighter, raised one eyebrow, and said, "I don't believe I follow."

"Well. It's a really, I dunno, a _special_ sort of gift."

"And that's a problem? I thought gifts were supposed to be special. Is this Opposite Day or something?"

"No. You don't … Okay, see, the thing is … not to be rude or anything, but this is the sort of gift that … well, that lovers might give each other."

"Hmm."

He didn't follow up that monosyllable with anything, so she continued, "And the fact is that we aren't. I mean, you're a good friend and all. The best. Really. But you said yourself … I mean, I thought we'd sort of, you know, worked all that out already. Not that the idea turns me off." She dimpled, reached across, and laid a slim paw on his. "Quite the contrary."

_Dangerous ground you're treading here, Karl, very dangerous._ Gently he pulled his paw away and gave hers a pat. "I think you may be reading more into this than I'd intended, Wendy."

She looked at the gorgeous necklace and then back to him. "If I am, then I think you need to adjust your wavelength. This is more than just a 'friend' gift. Way more."

"Sorry. I didn't have any cheap, chintzy stuff lying around. I'm afraid this'll have to do."

"But … why give me anything at all?"

"Because tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and you deserve it."

"Um, okay, but that's … well, I'm flattered and all, but that's something a lover is supposed to do."

"Didn't have one of those lying around either." He leaned toward her. "Would you please just put it on? I've been anticipating how it would look, all the more since you chose that particular shade of light blue to wear today."

"Oh, all right. If you insist." Her expression spoke of a good bit more relish than her words, though, as she undid the clasp and slipped the necklace around her throat. As soon as it settled in just above her décolletage, she got a distinct sparkle in her eye. Repositioning the jewel marginally, she drew a deep breath and then sat up straight, placing her paws in her lap. "So? How does it look?"

"Breathtaking." But he was looking at her face when he said it.

"I wish I'd brought a mirror."

Wordlessly he reached into another pocket and drew out a small looking-glass, which he passed to her. She admired the necklace from several angles, her smile growing more brilliant by the second.

"This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Who'd you say made it?"

"A friend of mine."

"Are you sure?"

"Of what?"

"That _you_ didn't make it? You needn't be so modest as to be untruthful. I know you have the capability."

"Eh. My talents lie in other directions. I promise you I had no part in the manufacture of that item."

"Well I love it anyway." She took a few more glances and gave Karl his mirror. "And unless I happen to be doing something grubby, where it might get lost or dirty, it's gonna stay right where it is."

"Then we'll just have to see to it that you _don't_ do anything grubby."

She gave a disbelieving snort, but the rest of the meal passed in much brighter conversation all the same.

##


	6. Chapter 3 New Worlds Part A

_**Chapter Three – New Worlds – Part A**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

**I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol,  
****violence, or insanity to anyone,  
****but they've always worked for me.**

_**-Hunter S. Thompson**_

##

_** Wednesday 15 February 2017, 10:05pm **_

"You really want another one, _Cheri_?"

"Don' go gettin' all moral on me now, Jean-Marc. I came here t' have fun, not get a lecture. Get 'nough of that from that damned wolverine."

He studied her eyes surreptitiously, watching the pupils for the telltales he knew would soon appear. "I am not ze one to give ze lecture, _ma cher_. Ze brandy and I are ze very old friends, you mus' know."

Wendy tossed off her gin on the rocks and refocused on the fox beside her in the booth. "See, that's another thing. He hates it when I get drunk. Drives him up th' wall. Like I'm some kinda li'l schoolgirl." Jean-Marc reached for the bottle of Tanqueray and refilled her glass for her.

"Cheri, you are many sings I am sure, but ze little _écolière_ you are not."

She giggled and ran a finger along the underside of his muzzle. "You got the cutest li'l accent. I jus' love that cute li'l accent."

"And I adore many sings about you. Not simply ze accent."

"You wanna show me?"

Jean-Marc Reyneau was in no wise stupid. He knew a sure thing when it walked over and sat on his lap. "Eet would be my very great plezhair to show you how _much_ I wish to prove zis to you."

"Works for me." She slid over to the end of the bench. He did likewise and rose to offer her his paw. She took it, and managed not to fall over as she stood. They threaded a path to the door, and to his waiting car. She didn't actually collapse until he opened the passenger door, but he didn't have any trouble bundling her in.

##

_** ten hours earlier **_

Karl smacked his palm against the door frame. "Under no circumstances! It's too dangerous."

"I am _not_ gonna be a _prisoner_ in this house!"

"I'm not asking you to! I just want you to keep a low profile until I can do something about the TFN. Hopefully something permanent."

"More permanent than what you did to them at the Inn?"

"Gimme a break, Wendy."

Her eyes narrowed. "Sure. Pick a limb."

"I am not going to argue about this. I know what I'm doing. You've never been in a situation like this before. I have."

"Oh, but _**you**_, in all your super-sized finery, can just waltz about free as the breeze? Which one of us do you think they'd have a harder time identifying, huh? Somebody who could double as an upright freezer, or just another plain ol' fox?"

"There is nothing _plain_ about you. And besides, I have some facility with disguises. It won't be an issue."

"Yeah, right."

"Hey, listen, we _were_ out just two days ago, for lunch."

"Lunch!" she snorted. "Lunch doesn't count."

"… No?"

"No."

"Well, thanks. _That_ sure strokes my ego."

"Not my problem." She stood and walked over to the wet bar, opened the cooler door and rummaged through the bottles.

He stared at her while she chose one and then shook his head. "I won't even be gone that long, you know."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is?"

"I want to live!"

"And that's _my_ point. Keeping you alive _is_ the point."

"Don't be stupid. I'm not a hothouse plant. I want to have a _life_, not just a … an existence! The life I built in Vermont is pretty much gone, and I turned my back on my career in Pennsylvania." She poured herself two fingers of spiced rum and took a generous sip. "Now I get to start over … _again_. And even though a decent chunk of all that is your fault – well, okay, maybe not your _fault_ exactly, but you did have somewhat to do with it – I don't need for you to go feeling responsible for me. I want to take care of myself. I've never been comfortable with the idea of being someone's 'kept woman', and I'm not about to start now."

"You aren't any _sort_ of 'kept' woman!"

"A difference which makes no difference …"

He turned away, flinging his arms in the air. "I feel like I'm talking to a post!"

"Join the club."

Flopping down on the sofa, which gave vent to a small cracking sound in protest, he rubbed his temples for a moment. "Okay. Look. How about this? Let me get the supplies I ordered, and get the rest of the perimeter improvements set up. It shouldn't take more than a couple of days. Meanwhile, I can flesh out the leads I found on the TFN. I know they're snooping around in this direction, but at this point that's all I know. Once that's taken care of, we can move about in relative freedom."

"And how long will it take for this problem to be 'taken care of'?"

"Uh … well … I'm not sure."

"Give me a rough estimate. Are we talking days?"

"Um …"

"Okay. Weeks, then?"

"Um … yeah. At least."

"Unacceptable."

"I don't _get_ you! You want to take your chances on _them_ finding you? Because I assure you, it would be an unpleasant experience."

"That would beat rotting away here."

"Death by torture trumps a bit of isolation?"

"Isolation _is_ death by torture."

"I don't understand what the urgency is! You were holed up in the Inn for weeks at a time."

"And I just about went nuts. Anyway, that doesn't count. That was my place, and I was working, however haphazardly, toward a goal. Here? I got nothin'. This is _your_ place, _your_ deal. I'm just passing through."

His expression hardened. "I'm sorry you feel that way. But it looks as if I'll just have to save you from yourself." He stood and moved toward the door. "I'll be back in about three hours, if all goes well. We'll take another look at your options then."

Rather than replying, she tossed off her rum and reached for the bottle, studiously ignoring him.

He walked out. She sipped her drink while listening to the sound of the sled's powerful turbine engine coming up to speed and then fading in the distance.

Two more glasses killed the bottle. She rose and wandered out to the kitchen, staring into the white distance. A trio of snowmobiles roared past. The passenger on the one in front was pelting snowballs at the one behind them while the last in line called encouragement. The laughing group of furs disappeared past the corner of the house.

As she stood there, staring at the snow, leaning on the edge of the sink, thinking about the world passing by, every other living fur besides her having fun, her breath started coming faster. _Why not?_ she thought. She set the bottle on the edge of the counter and stomped over to the back entrance. Pulling out her new cold-weather gear, she hurriedly dressed and then made her exit, slamming the door behind her. The impact jarred the rum bottle, sending it to the floor where the hard tiles had a predictable effect.

##

_** seven hours earlier **_

A sudden crystalline crunching sound greeted Karl when he pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. He stopped, surveying the glassy shards that this morning had contained rum, but now were scattered across the tile.

"Wendy?"

When no answer was forthcoming, he set his bags on the counter by the door and let it swing shut. Twenty seconds later, having zipped through the entire house, he headed outside. Following his intuition around to the garage, he huffed in frustration when he saw the empty space where the snowmobile normally stood. _Blast it, girl! What do you think you're doing?_ Her track led out the front side of the garage, straight toward the tiny secondary road that meandered past his property. No one could call it heavily traveled, but enough time had passed since the last snowfall for the path to get packed down solidly. He spent a few seconds making sure of her direction, then ran back to the house and fired up the powersled.

##

_** six hours earlier **_

Traffic was pretty light along this stretch of highway. Wendy hoped it wasn't _too_ light.

When she took the snowmobile, she hadn't wondered whether or not it would need fuel. That had no part in her thought process, and probably never would have, if it hadn't sputtered to a stop in the middle of nowhere.

Eh. Not _exactly_ the middle of nowhere. She had a reasonably accurate idea of where she wanted to go, and a somewhat hazier notion of where she was at the moment: south of Alma, roughly halfway to the capitol city of Quebec.

She dismounted and tapped on the fuel gauge. The needle stayed pegged on 'E'.

_Well at least I'm dressed for the occasion._ In truth, she wasn't the slightest bit cold. The parka and leggings and riding boots and multilayered mittens Karl had supplied her the week before performed flawlessly.

She removed her helmet, took a moment to stretch her back out, and then surveyed the road. Nothing was coming her way in either direction, although she had just passed three vehicles going north not two minutes earlier. She didn't worry about it. _Wish I'd brought something to drink. This cold air really makes you thirsty!_

It didn't become an issue, though. Less than five minutes after running dry, she spotted a utility van coming down the road in the direction she was heading. It slowed, and stopped beside the snowmobile. A middle-aged bear stuck his head out the window. "Ya all right, Miss?"

"I'm fine. My ride's dead."

"Where ya goin'?"

"Quebec City."

"… On a snowmobile?"

"Yeah. Stupid, huh?"

"Kinda. Where ya come from, eh?"

"Alma."

"Damn! Ya know how far that is to Quebec?"

"About two hundred fifty klicks, more or less."

"Okay, ya do know." He shook his head in wonder. "Well, I'm headed to Portneuf myself, so I'll be going right through there. Yer welcome to ride shotgun if ya want, eh?"

"Thanks. I appreciate it." She trotted around the front of the van and climbed in the passenger side.

"Ya runnin' to or runnin' away?"

She gave him a hard look for a second but then shrugged. "Maybe some of both," she answered as she unclasped the mittens and pulled them off. "My name's Wendy, by the way."

"George."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise." He pointed to a thermos clipped onto the dash. "Coffee there, if ya want some."

"Thanks. Again." She took one of the Styrofoam cups he showed her and poured it full of the steaming liquid. She took a grateful sip and then asked, "You aren't a native Quebecois, are you?"

"Nah. From over in Ontario."

"Thought I caught that accent."

"It'd be hard ta miss, eh?"

"I wouldn't care if you spoke Martian, as long as I can get to Quebec."

"Oh? What's in Quebec to bring ya out this far on a snowmobile?"

"Life."

He chuckled. "As opposed ta what? Alma got no life?"

"Not really. Not the kind I want. Kind I need."

"Then I wish ya luck findin' what yer after, eh?"

"Thanks."

##

_** five hours earlier **_

In such a white and unsullied landscape as the one through which he traveled, Karl found it very easy to pick out anything unusual. So he had no trouble spotting the abandoned snowmobile. He brought the powersled to a halt behind it on the road's shoulder.

A cursory examination revealed why it didn't show up on his GPS: Wendy had removed the tracking module. Apparently she _really_ didn't want to be found.

He felt for the temperatures of the engine, the drive bearings, and the exhaust manifold, calculating that the motor had been off between fifty and seventy minutes.

_This is bad. I'm running out of time_. He hopped back into the sled and raced off south.

##

_** four hours earlier **_

"This where ya wanna go? Ya sure?"

"Absolutely." Wendy gazed up at the gaudy neon sign over the bar's entrance. "This is perfect. Thanks again for the ride."

George looked the place over dubiously. "Ya know, there's lots nicer bars on the north side. Safer, too."

Wendy gave him a look. "You think I'm helpless? A lamb out of the fold?"

"I think there's no sense in temptin' fate is what I think. Too much riff-raff 'round here, eh?"

"Well trust me when I say I can take care of myself."

"Ya packin'?"

"I'm not unarmed, if that's what you're asking. I've got a taser, some pepper spray, and a blade. And I'm not _entirely_ innocent of how to use them."

"Oh. Okee, then."

"I'm all grown up, _'Uncle'_ George. So don't worry." She turned and sauntered in through the wide entrance. Light and sound escaped briefly before the door swung shut.

He shrugged and started his van. "Good luck to ya, Miss. I think ya gonna need it." He put it in gear and pulled back out into the light traffic.

Making his way from the docks, he reestablished his westward route, following Highway 40 toward downtown. As he took the overpass crossing Highway 175 he noticed an odd vehicle streaking in from the north. He watched the long, white powersled as it zipped beneath him, headed for the river. _Wow. Wish I had one of those. Must be nice to be rich enough to afford something like that._ But then he sighed, put it out of his mind and concentrated on getting to Portneuf.

##


	7. Chapter 3 New Worlds Part B

_**Chapter Three – New Worlds – Part B**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Thursday 16 February, 6:00pm **_

Metropolitan Quebec City covered maybe twelve klicks east-to-west and better than eight the other way. By sunset Karl had covered the majority of it.

He had a fairly recent holo of Wendy, and had shown it to well over three hundred furs in the last twenty-four hours. So far, the city seemed to have swallowed her whole.

He tried not to worry, but his imagination kept running away with him. Was she safe? Was she uninjured? Had she gotten herself a hotel room? Where was she sleeping?

And with whom?

He directed the sled to a berm running alongside a Tim Hortons, parked it, and ran inside. While the cook staff was busy putting together his (rather large) order, he passed the holo around to the few others in the store. A portly skunk did a double-take when it reached him. He removed his glasses, held the image close to his muzzle, and squinted at it, nodding to himself. He passed it back to Karl and said, "I have seen her."

"You are positive it was her?"

"Yes. I am sure. She was entering a bar last night as I drove past. I had to stop because a large van was blocking the road. She emerged and stared at the bar, spoke to the van driver, and then went inside."

"Can you tell me the name of the bar?"

"Ah … its name, no. It lies on Rue St-Paul, near Rue Rioux. But it is the only bar on that street, I believe, and it has a large neon sign above the door.

"You have my thanks, sir." He strode to the counter, laid a stack of $C50 bills beside the register, and said, "Free food for everyfur in here as long as it lasts," and then he ran out to the powersled.

##

_** 7:10pm **_

Each time the door opened, music from a live band escaped into the avenue, entertaining passersby as Karl approached the bar. When a tipsy couple stumbled out he caught the door for them, then entered, taking a small table toward the back. A busty squirrel came over to get his order, but instead of making a choice he silently slid a hundred-note her way over the cigarette burns. She left it there, giving him a confused look.

"That's yours," he explained. "And if you can help me out with a bit of information you get another."

The bill disappeared into her change pocket. She glanced over at the bar and then sat down opposite him. "What would you like to know, Sugar?"

He produced Wendy's likeness and showed it to her. "I understand she was in here last night."

The squirrel only needed a second to answer in the affirmative. "Yeah. That's her. Cute thing."

"Was she alone?"

"Not for long."

The waitress missed the storm gathering in his eyes, rattling on, "See, she didn't have to pay for any of her drinks. Had a few different guys dangling off her wrist for an hour or two, but then she hooked up with Rey."

"Rey?"

"Reyneau. He's a … sort of a new regular, if you know what I mean. Been coming in every couple-three days for … oh, I guess it'd be two weeks now."

"Why'd she choose him?"

"Beats me. Don't know that she did. For my money, he's the one that does the choosing."

"What do you mean?"

"Boy's got a way with the femmes. The action that guy gets? He must _live_ on oysters."

This did nothing to improve Karl's mood. "When you say 'hooked up', do you mean she left with him?"

"Exactly."

"And that's … normal behavior for him?"

"Yep. Heh! You know, it's funny."

"What is?"

"How he leaves with a different chick every time. You'd think at least _one_ of 'em would get pissed at him for it." She got a slightly pensive look on her face and then said, "That's funny, too."

He cocked an eyebrow, prompting her to say, "Hadn't really thought about it before, but he always leaves with some newby, never with one of the regulars."

"And why is that funny?"

"I guess because he scares 'em off or something. They never come back."

Karl digested that, reaching some very disturbing conclusions. "Do you know his first name?"

"Uh … Jean-Marie? Maybe? Jean-Claude?"

Karl slid her another bill. She looked surprised. "I'm not trying to soak you or anything. I really can't … wait! Jean-Marc! That's it. Jean-Marc Reyneau."

Karl nodded at the money. "Go ahead and take it." When she did he asked, "Do you know his address?"

"No. Don't really want to. Guy gives me the creeps, if you want the truth."

"… I see. When did they leave?"

"Umm … it was … after ten. Yeah. They were already gone when the band took a break at eleven."

"Does he have his own transportation?"

"Yeah. Older Beemer, I think it's a 325. Dark blue." She snapped her fingers and said, "Wait here!" Then she rushed to the bar. After an animated conversation with the hulking badger bartender, who looked over at Karl several times, she came back and showed him a sheet of paper. "Here. We had to get a copy of his driver's license once because his tab got too big."

The wolverine's face grew a feral grin that made the waitress back up a step. He gave her two more hundreds, said, "One of those is for the bartender," and left.

##

_** Fri__day 17 February, 8:00am **_

Garbage littered the alley between Reyneau's building and its next-door twin. The odors of urine and rotting food and several other foul-but-unidentifiable things permeated the entire neighborhood. Twice during the night, as he sat there trying to fine-tune his equipment, Karl had been obliged to discourage small gangs of thugs who thought they needed his ride worse than he did. Since he wished to remain in the vicinity, he hadn't permanently damaged any of them. Nevertheless, they all stayed away after the initial encounters.

The scanning unit he had installed in the powersled had plenty of range, but it wasn't much for fine detail. He knew there were two life signatures in the fifth-floor apartment in question, knew that one of them had started moving around in the last few minutes, but didn't know which (if either) was Wendy.

An internal debate raged in his mind. On the one paw, he'd like nothing better than knocking the door down and forcibly carrying her back to his house. On the other, he felt sure that she'd never forgive him if he did, and would likely vanish again in the near future. Looming over the argument was the fact that the Trenchant Furs were after her, knew what she looked like, and were in the area. If he left her where she was, eventually she'd be spotted.

Via the scanner, he tracked the mobile life sign as it left the apartment, took the elevator to the lobby, and headed to the parking lot on the other side. Shortly a slightly battered '92 BMW 325i puttered past the alley and away up the street, Reyneau at the wheel. Karl had located the car the night before, and outfitted it with a long-range tracking device. He set his scanner to keep tabs on it and alert him if it got within five hundred meters.

Then he leaned back in his seat and just watched the display. Wendy – if that _were_ she in the apartment, which he both hoped and dreaded – hadn't budged. Obviously she was still asleep. He tried to keep his mind from wandering into what they'd been doing all night to tire her out so, but that was a losing prospect. He pulled a chicken sandwich from the stash he'd bought earlier and wolfed it down, repeated the process, and then stared again at the display.

_This sucks._

It was pushing ten o'clock when he could finally stand it no longer. Reyneau wasn't even in Quebec City any more, having stopped at some outlying town over twenty-five klicks distant. Wendy _(God, please let it be her)_ still hadn't offered to so much as turn over. He got out of the powersled and entered the apartment building.

Security was nonexistent. He walked right into the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor. Thirty seconds later he stood in front of Apartment H.

That's all he did for nearly a minute, while examining the door. The paint was badly chipped, and peeling along the edge beside the knob. There was a sight-hole, but it had been included in the most recent whitewashing, and nofur had bothered to clean it off since. There was a deadbolt in place, but it was a cheap set and Karl could tell it was keyed the same as the knob.

Augmenting his hearing, he concentrated on the sounds in the apartment: something, probably an analog clock, ticked off the seconds; various pieces of electronic equipment added their whines and drones to the background; and someone was breathing in a slow, regular pattern suggestive of deep sleep. From the muffled and reflected quality of the sound, there were probably two more closed doors past the entrance.

Another twenty seconds of arguing with himself ended in his pulling out a small lock-picking tool. Six seconds later he was inside.

The apartment was, if anything even less appealing than the outside of the building. Mssr. Reyneau evidently placed a low value on hygiene. Karl picked his way through the mounds of discarded food wrappers, porn magazines, dirty clothing, and just plain filth to the short hall opposite, pushed the folding panel aside and eased down to the last room, from whence issued the sounds of slumber. He steadied himself and knocked on the door.

There was no response. After knocking again he turned the knob and walked in, and his hackles sprang fully erect.

Naked except for a wide leather belt, Wendy lay at length on an ornate king size bed, the only piece of furniture Karl had seen thus far that didn't look chintzy. A dual-link steel chain ran from a cleat in the headboard down to a heavy collar around her neck. Taking in the rest of the room at a glance, he noted two bags of white powder, a needle, a bottle of window cleaner, a small water pipe, and a few other items of drug paraphernalia spread out on the dresser opposite. An open laptop sat on a folding chair in front of it. He was at Wendy's side in two steps, kneeling on the bed.

He gently took her shoulder and gave her a shake. "Wendy? Can you hear me?"

The half-lidded expression on her face didn't waver. He peeled one eye open, frowning in concern at the pinpoint condition of her pupil as he ran through a short list of the drugs Reyneau might have used. It was then that she slowly blinked and made a tiny sound.

"Wendy? You in there?"

Her gaze slowly ratcheted around to settle in his general direction. "Huzzumuh?"

"Wendy, it's me, Karl."

"Shnumhnuhmuh."

"You've been drugged. Can you remember anything?"

She screwed her eyes shut and raised one shaky paw to her head. "Mmhmmhff."

Karl took the chain in his paws and snapped it off close to the collar. He helped her to sit up and then looked around for something to dress her in, settling on a scruffy shirt and a pair of long pants. Mssr. Reyneau's scent he catalogued for future reference. Copping the laptop and the bags of powder, he tucked Wendy under one arm and left the apartment. A few minutes later he had her ensconced in the powersled, and they zipped off to the nearest medical clinic.

##

_** 4:40pm **_

Jean-Marc fitted a key to his apartment door, then held it open to allow his visitor inside. The weasel glanced around in distaste and asked, "Would it kill you to buy a trash can?"

"_Ce n'est pas nécessaire._ Before ze mess becomes a problem, I will have moved."

"Whatever. Where is she?"

"Back on ze bed. You will see. She is ze one your boss is looking for, I know it zis time."

"You'd better be right. Madame is getting impatient with your lack of success. You need to understand that she is a fur that you _really_ don't want to be upset with you. We don't have time for you to indulge in your little fetishes with every femme you grab."

"Zen come, and see, and believe." He strode down the hall and pushed into his bedroom, his visitor right on his heels.

To reach that last room, the two had to pass by the door to the hall bathroom. As the weasel did so, Karl slipped out into the hall behind him. When Reyneau opened the bedroom door, he stopped in shock at the threshold, his muzzle hanging open, the broken chain and empty bed robbing him of speech for the moment. He was still in the middle of trying to process the fact that his victim was gone when he turned back to the weasel, just in time to watch as he crumpled to the floor. Then his gaze was yanked upward as a giant wolverine stepped over the still form and closed a massive fist around Reyneau's neck.

##

_** Saturday 18__ February, 5:00am **_

By this early in the morning, the level of activity in the _Hopital Saint-Francois_ emergency room usually slowed considerably. Most of the drunks, thugs, and domestic-violence types they saw on a typical night were already processed. Either they were somewhere upstairs, or had been treated and sent home. This shift was no different. In fact, none of the staff had really had anything exciting to do for over an hour. That changed when something heavy slammed into the main doors, causing the nurse on duty at the desk to jump to her feet.

"Rene! Go see what that was!"

The canine in question trotted over to the entrance, slowing as he approached. It paid to be wary in this sort of situation. Whatever had hit the wide double doors was still holding them slightly ajar. He looked through the heavy glass, squinting to make out what it was. Then he yelled, "Get a crash cart over here!" and yanked the doors open.

Following an insistent and not quite frantic phone consultation, the resident-on-call, a graying raccoon, showed up twenty-one minutes later. Striding up to the duty nurse, he demanded to see the chart for the patient in question. Scanning down its length, his eyebrows threatened to merge with his headfur. "Is this a joke?"

"No, doctor. Believe me, it's no joke. I checked him in."

"Where is he?"

"Room Six."

He hurried down the hall, veering right at the fourth opening. Three interns and a nurse were crowded around the exam table where a mangled fox lay. One of them noticed the resident and called, "Doctor Leclerc! Thank God! This guy's a mess."

Leclerc came up beside the table, wincing at the sight of the fur lying there. "Has anyone figured out what happened to him?"

One intern, whose name tag read 'Depardieu' answered, "My guess is that it's related to organized crime."

"Where the hell are his ears?"

"Whoever broke him up must have decided to keep them as a souvenir."

"… And his tail?"

"We, um, assume that's what's in the, ah, plastic bag over there on the table."

Leclerc took a quick look at the bag, grimacing in disgust.

Depardieu repositioned the fox's left arm and pulled it straight. The nurse applied a traction boot to the wrist and hooked it to the tensioning machine. His right arm was already thusly prepared.

The intern nearest Dr. Leclerc passed him a sheaf of x-rays. "You'll have to see these to believe them."

Leclerc went over to the light box and popped them in. He began mumbling under his breath, and after about half a minute turned back to the team at the table. They'd just finished stabilizing the left leg. "How in all the hells there might be does someone break _every last_ long bone in his body?"

"That's what we were hoping you could tell us, sir."

Leclerc looked through the x-rays again, counting to himself. Then he studied the fox, and soon began frowning. "I don't see any blood."

"He didn't have any contusions or lacerations. All his internal organs appear to be intact, so I think we can rule out an accident."

"And yet he has twenty-seven fractures in twelve bones."

"Yes, sir, apart from his broken jaw, sir. And we'd already corrected his dislocated shoulders by the time that x-ray you're holding was taken. And I'm pretty sure the Achilles tendons have been pulled loose from his heels."

Dr. Leclerc scanned the chart again. "I see the blood-tox came back negative."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Amazing." He glanced at the top of the form. "Jean-Marc Reyneau? Does that name ring a bell for anyone?"

Four heads shook decisively. Depardieu offered, "He had his wallet on him. It had money in it, cards, a few photos. He has a place over on Rue 18."

One of the others pointed toward a corner of the room. "He was stuffed in that box when he got here."

The doctor stepped over to the item in question. It was a standard 120-liter plastic storage container. "Do you mean to tell me that he was _inside_ this thing?"

"Yes, sir. Folded up pretty tightly."

Leclerc frowned and reached down into the box, picking up a large, flat envelope. He hefted it and asked, "What's this?"

None of the interns had noticed the package, and said so. Leclerc saw a smaller envelope taped to its outside that read _Please Forward to the Local Police Department_. It wasn't sealed, so he opened it. Inside was this note:

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_This computer is the property of Mssr. Jean-Marc Reyneau,  
noted kidnapper, rapist, and self-admitted expert in torture.  
At such time as he is transferred to the custody of the proper  
authorities, it should be known that there are many pieces  
of information on the hard drive that should prove useful in  
his prosecution. He has been a very naughty boy._

Behind the note were several photographic printouts from the laptop. Mssr. Reyneau figured prominently in each. Leclerc flipped through them, his gorge rising, and then passed them around while he read the note to the group. To a fur, they turned a look of loathing on the fox. "It would seem," he remarked, "that our patient has been treated to a dose of his own medicine."

They got the fox's final limb placed in traction and turned on the machine. Depardieu observed, "It is well for Mssr. Reyneau that he is unconscious. This is going to be extraordinarily painful."

Dr. Leclerc turned to one of the other interns and asked, "Do we have an anesthesiologist available?"

"You think we'll need one?"

"It is possible the pain of setting his bones may wake him. We should be prepared." He held up a paw waist-high as the intern headed for the door. "But you needn't feel a great urge to hurry." The other nodded, a slight grin on his face, before he ambled out to the hall.

##


	8. Chapter 3 New Worlds Part C

_**Chapter Three – New Worlds – Part C**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Tuesday 21 February, 11:00am **_

Three days passed before Wendy felt like some semblance of her old self. Very little of what had transpired after she left the bar with Reyneau stuck in her mind. Scraps of images, of lights, of pain and hallucination battled with each other for dominance. Karl did what he could to convince her that remembering what she'd gone through wouldn't do her a bit of good, and might do some harm. It nagged at her, though, as did the various bruises and the raw, prickly feeling that lingered in her nether regions.

The big wolverine tried not to dwell on what he'd learned, either. Mssr. Reyneau had deserved everything Karl had dished out, and more. Never for the rest of his days would he be physically sound … but that wouldn't do the vixen any good.

Her mood this morning was subdued. The previous night she'd been lucid enough to ask for some details about her capture. He gave her the extremely-condensed version, and let her in on some of the information he'd extracted from the Trenchant Fur weasel who had hired Reyneau to collect vixens. As it turned out, he wasn't the only such hire: there were two more in Quebec City and five scattered out across the lower half of the Province. Karl had spent Sunday neutralizing the local kidnappers (and freeing three more vixens in the process) and had slipped some anonymous but very detailed tips to the Provincial Police concerning the rest.

Now ensconced in a two-bedroom suite at the Fairmont Le Château Frontenac, Karl and Wendy sat in a pair of overstuffed chairs flanking a low table in the parlor. Spectacular views of the St. Lawrence River posed, postcard-ready, outside the wide window, but Wendy wasn't interested and Karl was only concerned with her. She hadn't touched the generous brunch of fruit and cheese laid out on the tray between them, though Karl would absently toss a berry or slice of apple into his mouth every couple of minutes.

She shifted slightly in her chair and said, "So they're okay now?"

He hurriedly swallowed and responded, "Are you referring to the other girls?"

"Yeah."

"They are, yes. The other kidnappers didn't share Reyneau's … tastes. They were scared half to death, but that's all."

"Hmm."

Silence settled back in between them. He watched her carefully. She blinked and wiped briefly at her eyes.

"Is there something I can do?" he asked anxiously. "You need anything?"

Turning a troubled gaze his way, she shook her head and sighed. "I'm just … sorry. I guess."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For … for making the … for putting those other women … in that position."

"Please. That can hardly be laid at _your_ door. Ultimately, if you want to get really picky, it would be _my_ fault for getting involved in _your_ life."

"Which is my fault for going to your shop in the first place."

"Which you wouldn't have done if I hadn't worked with your uncle to set up an account for you."

His statement pulled a tiny grin across her muzzle. "Uh … okay, which I never would have known about if I'd just walked away from that first meeting with the lawyer and stayed in Pennsylvania."

"Which you _couldn't_ do, in all good conscience, if you wanted to be true to yourself. You were in an untenable position at StrongArm. That Rodin character would drive anyone off."

"I'd managed to stick it out for quite a while. I should have … maybe … um …"

"Should have maybe polished your crystal ball and foreseen all of this? That's what it would have taken, you know."

That rewarded him with a watery little laugh, and she sat up straight. "You can probably keep that up as long as I can, can't you?"

"Try me."

"Nah. Don't have the energy." She eyed the tray on the table and selected a plump strawberry. "You're probably right. There isn't really anything I can do about my being me."

Inside, he practically sagged in relief. "Exactly. Nor should you want to, as there is nothing about you that needs 'fixing'. If you want to lay down some blame, may I suggest the terrorist organization that had you abducted?"

"Yeah. That works." She dabbed a bit of sweetened Neufchatel on the strawberry, popped it into her mouth, and chewed slowly. "So what do we do now?"

"Right. Well, our options have been rather thinned of late. As the TFN is not composed of congenital idiots, they know we are in the area. I think our best bet would be to head back north and go to ground for a while."

She favored him with a wry grin. "You mean sort of like the way you asked me to do last week?"

"Uh … yeah. Sort of like that."

"Okay. When?"

_Better and better!_ "I'd say we lay low here a couple more days, then sneak out during the morning rush hour."

"Sneak is good." She picked up a thin cracker and laid a slice of smoked Gouda on it. "I don't like being a target."

"No, neither do I." He watched, satisfied, as she swallowed the cheese.

"Hey, Karl, do me a favor?"

"Sure! Within reason."

She shot him a smirk and then said, "I need some brushes. Maybe your coat never gives you any trouble, but I'm feeling decidedly rumpled. I want a long, hot bath, and I'll need some brushes when I'm done. Can you do that for me?"

"I'll get 'em, one way or another. I'm pretty sure the hotel can send some up, though."

"You check on that." She rose and stretched and then headed for the bathroom. "I'm gonna go get _nehkkid_."

"Naked?"

"No, nehkkid. You aren't twisting the vowel quite enough."

"Okay … so … what's the difference?"

"Naked is when you don't have any clothes on."

"News flash."

"Nehkkid is when you don't have any clothes on, and you're up to something." She untied the robe she was wearing and shrugged it off her shoulders, making an untidy pile at her feet and exposing the brief shift she wore underneath.

"Um … huh … well, I'll just, um, mosey on down to the concierge, then." He hurried for the door.

She reached down to pull off the shift, timing it for her exit into the bath area, and answered musically, "What, you don't want to scrub my back?"

"… Wendy …"

The shift came sailing into the room to land on top of the robe. She called back, "Oh, go on. I'm just messing with you."

_Whoa. __**Her**__ mood perked up in a hurry._

She stuck her head out into his field of vision. "Hey! You never told me what happened to that other guy."

"Who?"

"That weasel guy with the TFN."

Very matter-of-factly, indeed, conversationally, he tossed over his shoulder, "He's dead."

"… _Dead?_"

Releasing the doorknob, he turned back to face her. "Of course."

"You _killed_ him?"

"He would have killed _you_ without hesitation or regret."

"Well … yeah, I realize that, but …"

"He was a terrorist, Wendy. A career criminal of the worst sort."

_As if __that__ explains everything._ "But … _geez_, Karl!"

"Is there a problem?"

_Is there a __**problem**__? Is he kidding?_ "Look, I know that what happened back at the Inn … well, you didn't really have much choice at the time, but … but this was … it was …"

"Necessary."

"_Necessary?_ But … why not just turn him over to the police? Isn't that what you did with Reyneau?"

"Absolutely. But Reyneau, though a total waste of DNA if there ever was one, is a freelancer. He wasn't with the TFN."

Her confusion telegraphed readily. "And?"

"If a TFN operative is arrested, his cohorts come and get him. Collateral damage is inevitable in such an undertaking. I didn't feel it was my place to put the lives of the police in jeopardy."

"Uh …" She grabbed desperately at the first thing that popped into her mind. "What, uh, what'd you do with the body?"

"Don't worry about it. It'll never be found."

"Never … be …" She drew a long breath and asked, "You gonna kill every one of 'em you run into?"

His expression smoothed out to a blank. "My conflict with the Trenchant Furs – and for that matter, with the rest of the Cartel – is a total war. We extend one another no courtesies. We acknowledge no set of rules. There is no quarter given. Ever."

She blinked at him, then frowned at a blank spot on the carpet. Finally she shook her head, said, "Ooookay," and withdrew to take her bath.

##

In a room down the hall, between Karl's suite and the elevator, a panther pricked his ears at the amplified sound of a door opening. He swung around and eagerly watched the monitor as the figure of the huge wolverine moved past his hidden camera and entered the stairwell.

"Hey, Crom, he's out!"

The other fur in the room, a dead ringer for the one at the monitor, came up beside him. "Out where?"

"Downstairs, looks like."

"Just him, or both of 'em?"

"Just him. The little bitch still hasn't stuck her nose out of the room."

"Shit." The panther's tail swished around agitatedly for several seconds. "You _dead_ sure she's in there with him?"

"Can't figure any _other_ angle. You?"

"I'd be happy if we could just hear what they said. He's got some real hellacious jammer setup." Scuffing the floor with one foot, his claws ripped out several carpet fibers. He raised that foot and absently picked off the clinging bits. "Wish they'd just go the _**fuck**_ ahead and _leave!_"

"Yeah." He leaned back in the desk chair and stretched.

The other walked over to the window, moved the drawn curtains marginally, and peeked out. Breathtaking scenery notwithstanding, they couldn't afford to have anyfur – especially the big wolverine – spot them. But that didn't mean they had to like it. He let the drape fall back into place and said, "Dom?"

"Hmm?"

"You still think this is a good idea?"

"Is what a good idea?"

"Keeping this to ourselves."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"What if one of the other cells spots him?"

"What if they do?"

"Then Old Lady Schmeddte would have us shot, that's what."

"No, no, no! Cromwell … you're missing the point. We've got him all to ourselves right now, see?"

"Yeah, but …"

"And he don't know we're here, right?"

"… Right. But still …"

"And when we follow him back to his hideout, and off him there, we get all the credit, right?"

"Well, yeah, but if one of the other …"

"They won't!" The panther at the monitor stood and walked over to his twin. "They aren't even close! And Gamma's got these mad skills where disguise is concerned. Nofur else will spot him, I guarantee it."

"_**We**_ got lucky."

"Yes, and that's just what it is. Luck. And I intend to cash in on it."

Crom sighed, but didn't offer any more objections.

Dominick patted his shoulder and said, "You'll see. I'm right."

"I hope so."

##

_** Friday 24__ February, 6:45am **_

Karl was wary of a tail. Augmented vision raked their surroundings as they glided easily out of town; every tool in his sensory array scanned the electromagnetic world. He had adjusted the polarization of the sled's topcoat, and they scooted along now in a dark-indigo vehicle. Wendy was not visible to anyone passing by. The driver, who appeared to be an old bear with a heavy, hoary head, squinted ahead at the morning traffic.

He may as well have saved himself the trouble.

Just under the rear deck, out of sight and inherently undetectable due to the complete lack of metal in its construction, a tiny transponder hid, stuck there courtesy of Cromwell and Dominick. No power source resided within its tiny housing. It could only generate a signal in response to a specific carrier wave, and then nothing more than a microburst reflection. But the equipment the two TFN operatives carried was sensitive enough to give them a vector within about fifty klicks. They let the powersled get well out of sight before pulling out of the garage and heading north. There would be no trouble in following their prey.

##

_** __Monday 27 February, 11:15am **_

The land hunched its shoulders against the cold that had slid in around it over the last two days. High, frigid wind and a steady fall of snow accompanied this fresh onslaught, encouraging the inhabitants to stay inside and stoke the fires well. Thus it was all the more surprising to the two terrorists when the long powersled appeared on the road in front of Gamma's house, turned east, and sped off out of sight. They pinged it once after five minutes had passed: nine klicks already separated them. The panthers looked at each other and shrugged. Crom said, "Maybe he's headed over to the Sanguenay."

"Anything else out that way?"

"I dunno. Ping him again in five."

They did so, finding him nearly thirty klicks distant, almost directly due east. Dom said, "Holy hell. After we get him, I _want_ that sled. It's a screamer."

"Yeah." He tapped the dashboard and said, "Looks like a good time to leave our little gift."

"Right." They left their blind and drove slowly down the road and over to the rambling house, careful to stay in the previous tracks. Stopping at the end of the drive, they went on foot the rest of the way, their wide snowshoes leaving hardly a trace in the fresh powder.

The back door turned out to be problematic. There was no knob as such, just a rigid handle, and the electronic identification system was hardened to anything they had with them. They didn't want to jimmy the front door, in case someone drove by and saw them. Breaking a window wasn't even considered, as it was a near certainty that Gamma had them wired, if not rigged for motion detection. That left the door on the side, behind the garage. Being of a more conventional manufacture, the mechanical lock yielded to their tools in under a minute. The single proximity-switch alarm was easily jammed, and shortly they were inside.

Earlier, when Dominick had checked the local building records, he wasn't really surprised to discover that Gamma's domicile had no listing. The land was registered to a Mssr. A. Wohl, and was zoned residential, but as far as the Province was concerned it still lay undeveloped. No floor plan existed for the house.

From here on in, the two panthers would be feeling their way.

The room was about four meters by six, and empty apart from a chest freezer. The walls, floor and ceiling looked to be finished with an odd kind of dark-brown laminate board, and with the only light coming from a small pane in the door, it left the room more than a little gloomy. Dominick noted a hinged stop at the outer door's lower corner and used it, propping it open as far as it would go. The only other door stood in the wall to their left, and Crom padded over to it. Peering into its small window, he saw that they were at the end of a short hallway. But this door was a twin of the one on the rear of the house, in that the door was some kind of dense alloy and its entry system was _much_ more sophisticated than anything they had brought. Cromwell kicked it in frustration.

Dominick patted his shoulder and offered, "That really shouldn't make any difference. If they're in the house when this thing goes off, it won't matter if they're in the same room or on the other end."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't want him to have any chance of finding it before it blows."

Dominick thought that over and then went to the chest freezer. The lid was unlocked. "How about this?"

"Yeah!" Cromwell brightened considerably and came over to look. "Not much chance they'll check the freezer right after coming in." He tapped the transceiver unit on his brother's belt. "Where is he now?"

##

"Here, smell this one."

"I don't think my nose can take any more, thanks. These 'bath & body' places are a little overwhelming."

Wendy pouted. "Party pooper."

"I don't want to poop your party, I just …" He started, and pulled a small device out of a pocket.

"Uh … what's that?"

"… Evidently …" He stared incredulously at the readout and drew a slow breath. "Evidently someone is in the process of breaking into my house."

Wendy's paw flew to her muzzle, her eyes suddenly huge. "You mean they found us al_ready_?" Her voice squeaked on the last word.

"Now, don't jump to conclusions. It could be just a run-of-the-mill thief. In which case he won't get anything."

"What if it isn't?"

"Well …" Karl frowned, considering his options. "Tell you what. I'll put the house in lockdown. That will keep whoever is there nice and secure until we get back."

That seemed to reassure the vixen. "Okay. You sure they won't be able to get out?"

He grunted a short chuckle. "Yes. Quite." And he entered a code into the device. "You satisfied with that conditioner you got?"

"Yeah. I kinda wanted to get some bath oil, too, but … maybe later."

"Good. Let's go."

##

"Thirty-two klicks. They must've stopped."

"That thing will ping us when he gets close, won't it?"

"It'll ping us when he starts _getting_ closer."

Cromwell sighed, "Good. I want to be far away when he gets back." He opened the pack they'd brought and pulled out a large metal cylinder. "What do you want to set it for?"

"Well … it didn't take him more than ten or twelve minutes to cover the thirty-odd klicks between here and the Sanguenay. I'd say set it for twenty and then hit the start code when he gets within twenty-five klicks."

"Right. I like that." He dialed in the time and set it. "Wish we could detonate this thing remotely."

"Mm. That'd be good. But if it could be _set_ _off_ from outside, it could be _defeated_ from outside. That's the whole point of this type of bomb. That why Madame likes them so much. They're tamper-proof."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Set it and forget it. But if he doesn't come right back …"

"Then he loses his house. Oh, he'll know who did it, but he won't have anywhere left to go. He'll be easy to track."

They argued the various merits and drawbacks of the bomb for the next few minutes until Cromwell asked, "Has he moved yet?"

Dominick checked the transceiver, frowned, checked it again, held it next to his ear and shook it, and then activated the ping once more.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not getting a signal."

"What's that mean?"

"It's … either it's being jammed … don't see how that could be … this thing has plenty of juice … but it isn't showing a jam sign … how would …"

Cromwell licked his lips. "He knows."

"What?" Dominick's head jerked up.

"He _knows!_ He knows something. I don't know how. But I'll bet anything _he's_ doing it."

Dominick's concern showed plainly. "Then he's on his way here."

"And we'd better get the hell _out!_"

"Turn the bomb on."

"Oh. Right. Twenty minutes?"

"Yeah. One way or another, either it'll get him or it'll blow this place to splinters."

"Okay. I guess we might as well." He opened the access door and flipped a series of switches, then slid the door shut. That started the timer and activated the anti-tamper protocols. Any attempt to get to the wiring now would set off the explosion.

They hurried to the door, but Cromwell stopped suddenly, causing Dominick to bump him from behind. "What the hell's wrong with you? Move!"

"Look at the door."

A filmy, faintly-glowing purple haze blocked the portal in question. They both looked around and noticed that the walls and ceiling were likewise obscured. It hadn't been obvious because of how dark the surfaces were, and how dim the violet glow. Cromwell reached to feel it, and his fingers bumped against a warm, slightly-yielding shell.

Dominick gasped and took a step back. "What is that? Crom, what the hell _is_ that?"

Turning a look of exasperation his way, Cromwell said, "How would I know, Dom?"

His brother jerked out a SIG P220, and fired at the door. Both panthers' jaws dropped when the bullet simply stopped at the gauzy barrier and quietly fell to the floor. Dominick emptied his magazine, the result of which was seven more pieces of spent lead in front of the door.

"Shit, Crom! We gotta get out of here!" He ran to the other door, but it, too, was covered with the dimly luminous mist. He beat a fist against it, then turned back to face his brother, his eyes wild. "The bomb! We have to … we …"

"We can't do anything about the bomb. He's got us."

"We gotta get _out!_"

"Not gonna happen."

"Crom! Help me find a way out!"

"We _can't_ get out. Don't you see? He sprung a trap on us, and we fell for it. He knew we were coming. We're screwed."

"_How_ could he know? Crom? How _could_ he?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's psychic. But there ain't a damn thing we can do about it." He walked over and sat down on the lid of the freezer.

"I can't believe you're just … _taking_ this! How can you be so _calm_?"

"What good would it do to run around screaming? You unloaded a mag on that energy field, or whatever it is, and it didn't even notice. I don't have anything more powerful than that with me. Do you?"

Defeated, Dominick slumped down against the freezer. "So … what, we just wait for him to get here?"

"Yep."

"… And what if he doesn't?"

"Get here?"

"Yeah."

"Then … we come back and haunt the son of a bitch."

##


	9. Chapter 3 New Worlds Part D

_**Chapter Three – New Worlds – Part D**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Monday 27 February, 11:55am **_

Karl eased the powersled up behind the big SUV blocking his driveway. On the trip back from Sanguenay he gave Wendy a thumbnail sketch of the workings of the house's primary defense system. No matter which room the thieves had accessed, they'd be stuck there until he decided to let them out. She liked the elegant simplicity: no one got hurt, but no one got away. Karl's previously-stated methods for dealing with the Trenchant Furs had upset her. She was having a difficult time reconciling the fur she knew as Karl with what she saw as little more than a bloodthirsty vendetta. Regardless of his past as an anti-terror field agent, this was radically different from the gentle, versatile fellow she'd come to know.

"Is he still in the house?"

"If he was there when the grid activated – and I believe that to be the case – then he's still there. The field can't be deactivated from the inside, at least not by any technology that I'm aware of." He pulled up the display and started tapping in information.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Checking the license plate for registry. … Okay, here we go. It's a company car, leased to Graham-Bourne Imports."

"Who are they?"

"No clue. But that's a temporary condition. Let's see …" He typed furiously for a minute, and then, "Ah, ha! As I suspected."

"TFN?"

"TFN. It's a shell company. So we know the guy's affiliation, but not his purpose in breaking in."

"Yeah. From what you said, they sound more like the types to shoot first, shoot again, and shoot some more."

"Correct. Patience isn't usually one of their more obvious traits."

"So, yeah, I'm curious, too. Are you gonna talk to him? Instead of killing him?"

"Oh, I'll talk to him all right."

Wendy shivered a little at the cold edge that crept into his voice. She asked, "Do you know which room he's in?"

"He _should_ be in the storeroom behind the garage. It's a force-point."

"A what?"

"Force-point. Somefur trying to break in is going to run into heavily reinforced walls, bulletproof windows and doors, and nearly impossible locks everywhere but that one side door. So, if he's persistent enough, he'll end up in that storeroom. And there he'll stay."

"… Karl?"

"Yes?"

"How long has it been since you got that signal?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I just wondered if he might run out of oxygen."

"Oh. Well, if he were stuck in there for several hours, it might be an issue. But it's not even been half an hour. So unless there are fifteen or twenty of them in there, it shouldn't be a problem. He'll be fine."

"Okay, good."

"For now."

That earned him a pained look, but he just grinned. "I'll go check on him. Make sure he's up to … a little chat."

"Hmh." She crossed her arms and hunkered in the seat. "Leave the heat on. Bloody cold out there."

"Sure thing." The windshell smacked open, he jumped out, and it closed behind him. Wendy watched as he trotted the seventy meters or so to the house, and disappeared around the side. She sat back in her seat and tried to rest, but quickly discovered she was too keyed up for that. A brief stint playing with the radio controls didn't produce anything she wanted to listen to: the local stations, as she already had discovered to her displeasure, were inordinately fond of talk shows. Since she didn't speak French well enough to follow any of the long harangues, it didn't do a thing for her. She was just fixing her PA's earbuds in place when Karl came running back up. He didn't look happy.

She popped the control for the windshell, and he jumped in, rocking the big sled before closing it again. He didn't say anything right away so she asked, "What's wrong? You look … disturbed."

"Well … um … he tried to break in, just as I thought. The lockdown caught him. Or them."

"Huh? You couldn't see how many there are?"

"It's … well, okay." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. "It's like this. Apparently – and I haven't done anything more than a cursory investigation, so I don't have any really hard data – apparently his idea was to plant a bomb in the house."

Her muzzle dropped open for a second. "A bomb?"

"Yyyyeah. Pretty big one, best I can tell."

"He … blew himself up?"

Karl nodded. "It's a mess. I didn't have anything important in there, since it was the force point. But … yeah. It's a mess."

The vixen felt queasy. "How will … what are you … uh, how are we going to …" She shook her head. "Can we clean it up?"

"Oh, I don't think cleaning it up will be the problem. Apart from the bits of what used to be the freezer, there's nothing in there a Shop-Vac can't handle."

Wendy screwed her eyes shut. "Thanks for the mental image."

"Sorry. Anyway, cleanup isn't the problem. Getting in the room right now is the problem. I can't turn off the field yet."

"Huh? Why not?"

"It was a big bomb."

"Yeah. You said that."

"It produced a great deal of energy, all of which is still in the room. Most of it, anyway. The field is partially transparent to the visible spectrum, and into the infrared, so the heat will leak out eventually. I left the outer door open for that purpose. But it will probably be several days before the heat level in the room drops low enough that I can turn off the field without risking a fire."

"Oh." She huddled to herself a little. "I see."

"So, no, to answer your earlier question, I couldn't determine how many of them there were."

"… Ugh."

"Yeah."

##

**Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness,  
****where rumors of oppression and deceit,  
****of unsuccessful and successful wars  
****may never reach me anymore.**

_**-William Cowper**_

##

_** Thursday 2 March, 7:25am **_

Although sunrise had officially occurred an hour earlier, the leaden overcast prolonged the darkness well beyond that. Wendy had been awake for a while, listening to the distant drone of the Shop-Vac. It was silent now.

Rolling onto her back, she went into a lengthy stretch that pushed her pillow off the bed and displaced the covers enough to expose the star sapphire necklace at her throat. Karl hadn't really expected her to wear it constantly, as she'd promised … but then he also didn't know that Nicu had done a few things to it to encourage just that sort of behavior. She rolled over and swung her feet to the floor, stretched some more, and finally made her way over to the bathroom. Flipping on a radio on her way past, she adjusted the frequency through several stations, but then turned it off in disgust. Nothing but a random sampling of the spittle-flecked fringes, arguing loudly in French.

After a methodical bath, and a luxurious ten minutes in the portable fur-dryer Karl had gotten for her, she sat down at her vanity and took stock. The system used six mirrors that allowed her to see whatever of herself she wanted to see. She fluffed her headfur, gathered a bit of it in one paw, and examined it closely. The conditioners still seemed to be doing their jobs: soft, no split ends, and gratifyingly shiny. A few minutes sufficed to arrange it in a long French braid, leaving a bit free on either side, to frame her face. Her eyes, she decided upon inspection, were still her best feature, bright and clear and alluring. _Chalk that up to clean living, _she chuckled,_ … not._ She smiled at her reflection, turned her head this way and that to check out her teeth. Nice and white, but it wouldn't be too many more years before she'd need to get them sharpened. _I guess you'll do for now, girl._

Half an hour later, she was just sitting down to an English muffin and a glass of orange juice when Karl came tromping into the kitchen.

"You're a fright."

He glanced her way, then down at himself, and then shrugged. "I didn't have a hazmat suit."

"Is all that dust what I think it is?"

"Probably."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"What bothers me is that I never got a chance to question them."

"Oh, _'them'_? More than one?"

"I think so. Two, or possibly three. There was that much ash left, and bone fragments."

She wrinkled her nose. "Nice weather we're having."

"Heh! Too much information?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"Sorry. I'll go wash it off."

"You had breakfast yet?"

"Well, now," he responded, affecting a droll accent, "Oi've 'ad _ferst_ brekfist, yas indeed, but not _second_ brekfist. An' I take elevenses a bit early, too."

She laughed. "Oh, so now you're … what? The world's tallest Hobbit?"

His laugh answered hers. "If you like. I don't mind."

"Well, go get clean. I'll have you something waiting."

"Thanks!" And he vanished down the hall.

When he returned in fifteen minutes, still toweling off his tail, he surveyed with approval the spread Wendy had laid out. She poured him a cup of coffee as he took his chair, and they both set to.

##

About mid-morning he came up from the basement and sought her out, finding her in her room, working the last few snarls out of her tail. The look on his face made her put the brush down. "Are they on to us?"

"No. Not yet. But I've picked up some hints that they are expanding their search northward from Quebec. If they employ the same methods they used in Vermont, it will only be a matter of a few weeks, tops."

"So we have to leave."

"Yes."

She thought for a minute and asked, "Which country?"

He didn't answer right away. Some days back, she had drawn Karl out about his collection of safe-houses. Besides this one, and his shop in New Haven, he had six more spread around the globe: northern Japan, Argentina, the Russia/Finland border, Germany, South Africa, and Tasmania. That last was the only one that appealed to her, since she'd be able to understand the natives. Sort of. But finally he said, "This one, I think."

"But …" she frowned at him. "But I thought this was your only hidey-hole in Canada."

"In a manner of speaking." He grabbed a chair and straddled it, resting his arms across the back as he sat. "This is my only safe-house that has a functioning arsenal, a state-of-the-art communications setup, and is defensible, in the short term, against whatever might be thrown at us."

"I hear a 'but' tacked on there."

"But I have another place. It's a bit more … remote."

"Ah-huh. Where is it?"

"Alberta. West of Wood Buffalo National Park."

"Never heard of it."

"I wouldn't expect so. You might say it's off the beaten path."

"And that would be better than Tasmania … because?"

"The Tasmanian People's Liberation Army is affiliated with the Cartel."

"Who?"

"Gang of rebels. In theory they want to declare independence from Australia. In practicality they're just another bunch of thugs, shrouding criminal activity in the mantel of a 'cause'. They're pretty active, and there are quite a few of them. My place is just north of Hobart, and is actually in a relatively urban area. Keeping a low profile would be difficult."

She sat back and considered the big wolverine. "Just how extensive _**is**_ this 'Cartel' anyway?"

"Not nearly as extensive as they used to be. In the late 90's they were everywhere. They had controlling interests in dozens of Third-World governments, either through extortion or having one of their puppets running the place. They operated crime syndicates in every industrialized nation on the planet. For that matter, they owned better than a dozen Senators and upwards of fifty Congressfurs right there in the good ol' U.S."

"Are you _serious_?"

"Oh, it was deadly serious. I don't know how closely you keep up with politics …"

"I don't. Politicians give me a rash."

"Heh. A lot of folks feel that way. Anyway, after Omicron got busy the various Cartel groups had to reallocate their resources. In the general elections of '04, '06, '08, and '10 you might have noticed a significant turnover of established incumbents. Some of them lost the monetary backing they'd had from the Cartel, some were no longer able to keep their real agendas secret, and some went into hiding out of fear for their lives. There were many different consumer or voter or taxpayer groups that banded together to root out just who was getting cash from whom. That resulted in some major housecleaning. But there were a lot of them involved in programs with ties to national security, so the lion's share of the stories got hushed up."

"So much for a free press."

He chuckled. "Free is a relative term. But to answer your question, right now the Cartel is on the rise again, despite the best efforts of Interpol, the ISB, MI-5, and a double-dozen similar agencies. There are cells in every major urban center. Counting all their crony groups they probably can claim as many as a quarter-million members."

"A quarter _million?_ Holy _shit!_"

"Yeah. Keep in mind, that's world-wide. They're spread a little thin here and there, but they have an extremely sophisticated organization. What one cell knows, you can bet others know too. And the upper-echelon people don't miss much."

"So then … these guys were … well, not freelance. Trying to score points with the boss?"

"Maybe. We'll never know for sure. But for now, the main group doesn't have us pinpointed."

"Yeah." She gathered her tail to her chest and sighed. "For now."

"Don't worry. We have plenty of time to gather what we need before we leave."

"I'm not worried. Not about that. But it's just so weird. This whole … fugitive thing. I still can't really … ya know … believe it. No, I mean, I _**do**_ believe it. But it's so … surreal. More and more, it's like someone else's life I'm watching."

"Eh. In my book that's understandable. Nine months ago you had a plush corner office in a metropolitan city, a secure position with an established firm, and no surprises on the radar. Since then, you changed careers, moved out of state, endured one of the worst winters on record, and ran afoul of terrorists. That could throw anyfur off."

"I guess."

He rose and headed for the door. "I'll get the mothballing process under way."

"Okay."

"You can go ahead and start a list of things you'll need for an extended stay away from civilization."

As he reached the door, she said, "You know, I never really believed you."

He glanced back over his shoulder, curious. "About what?"

"The danger. Until recently I thought you were being selfish. Or at the very least, overprotective. But you weren't. You weren't exaggerating at all."

"No, I wasn't. Did you think me paranoid?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. Some. Shows what I know."

"Easy enough to forgive, though. Different frame of reference." As he swung out the door, he called back, "Don't forget your shopping list."

##

_** __Monday 6 March, noon **_

The powersled kicked up quite a plume as it raced across the snow-bound Canadian Shield. Karl had reconfigured its exterior to white, and had the stealth mode active. It wouldn't show up on any electromagnetic system, and would barely register on a motion-detector, unless it ran right over the sensor.

Wendy had a large and detailed road map of Canada across her knees. Karl had offered to let her use the heads-up display to track their progress, but she preferred doing it via hardcopy. He tried not to snicker at her repeated attempts to fold the thing up the way she wanted.

_crinkle … crinkle … crinkle …_

"Would you like some help with that?"

"No."

_crinkle … crinkle … pop … swish … crinkle …_

"You sure?"

"Quite sure. Thanks."

_crinkle … pop … crinkle … crinkle …_

"I can put it on autopilot and …"

"You. Just. Hush."

"Whaaaaatever."

Finally the map achieved the presentation she wanted. Paying no attention to his bemused looks, she prompted, "You said we were in Ontario, right?"

"Ayep."

"So how long until we get to Manitoba?"

"Are you," he snorted, "asking me, 'Are we there yet'?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist." He cleared his throat. "It was about six hundred and fifty klicks from my base to the Quebec border. With the northwest path we're now taking, it'll be another thousand across Ontario. We'll head west by northwest across Manitoba. That'll take seven hundred klicks or so. Once we hit Saskatchewan we'll turn due west and keep going about eight hundred klicks."

"Second star on the right and straight on till morning, huh?"

"Something like that. Not counting stops for various necessary activities, the trip should take a little over twenty-one hours."

She did a quick mental estimation and gave a low whistle. "So you're gonna average right at a hundred-fifty kilometers per hour?"

"It's not a problem."

She thought that over and remarked, "I thought you said we wouldn't be meeting anyfur along the way."

"We aren't. What makes you say that?"

"Where you planning to get gas?"

"It doesn't use gas."

It occurred to her that she'd never asked him what kind of power source the sled used, nor had she ever seen him fill it with anything. "No gas?"

"Nope. The fan's a direct-drive electric motor."

"Electric?"

"Sure. Why the shocked expression?"

"You mean you've got a _battery_ that'll keep this monster tooling along at a buck-fifty for twenty-one hours?"

"Ah … technically, it isn't a battery. It's a power-storage system."

"Ah-huh. A battery _**is**_ a power-storage system. I know that much."

"It doesn't work the same way."

"So it's like a capacitor?"

"No, not really."

"What is it, then?"

"Um … okay. Batteries typically use chemical reactions to make power. Right?"

"Yeah. Lead-acid or lithium-ion or whatever."

"Right. Capacitors store electricity by virtue of their shape and composition."

"If you say so. Electronics wasn't my strong suit."

"Well, this system stores energy directly."

"… Sorry?"

"You pump it full of electricity, and it is stored as electric potential."

Her blank look prompted him to ask, "You know the security system on my house?"

"Yeah. You told me some about how it works. Not that I understood much of the explanation."

"That same field that acts as a physical barrier can be charged with energy. My storage system makes use of that fact."

She thought that over for a few seconds and shook her head. "Is it okay if I just nod and smile?"

"Heh. Sure."

"If you don't mind I'm gonna take a little nap. I was up till the wee hours packing, and you rousted me out at daybreak, and it's starting to catch me up."

"Pleasant dreams, then."

She reclined the seat to a comfortable position and closed her eyes.

**. . .**

**. . .**

**. . .**

**Here Ends Chapter Three**


	10. Chapter 4 Tensions Part A

_**Chapter Four – Tensions – Part A**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

**In the confusion we stay with each other,  
****happy to be together,  
****speaking without uttering a single word.**

_**-Walt Whitman**_

##

_** Tuesday 07 March 2017, 9:10am **_

"Wendy?"

Sleepy eyes opened. The vixen yawned and went into a long stretch, then sat up and peered around. "Are we here?"

"We are. I stopped before we got all the way down to the house, so you could see the lay of the land."

They were near the eastern edge of a long and very shallow valley. The morning sun behind them lit up the brilliant white landscape, striking tiny sparkles and bursts of iridescence that met her gaze everywhere she looked. A small lake nestled in a hollow off to their right, from which a lively stream escaped, flowing away north between dense stands of bare, white tree trunks. The house itself, which he had to point out to her, was almost directly in front of them, but it was too far away for her to get an idea of its scale. It looked tiny. Off to the south she could see an expanse of tall conifers drifting eventually into a low range of mountains.

"It's beautiful. In a minimalist sort of way."

"The land gets a lot prettier when the weather warms up."

She pointed south. "I don't have much of a feel for the size of things here. Are those trees tall?"

"Yeah, pretty tall. White spruce, mostly. Should be forty, maybe fifty meters." He indicated the areas west and north. "Most of the bits of forest there and there are aspen, poplar and white birch, with the birch especially around the lake and the stream. It's not an old forest here. A good-sized fire went through the area back in the seventies, so we don't have a lot of tall trees in close." He grinned. "That does improve our prospects for seeing some nice sunsets, though."

The windshell allowed her to do a slow three-sixty of their surroundings, which drew the comment, "Looks like your place is it. For quite a ways."

"Fox Lake is that way, about fifty or sixty klicks."

She consulted her map. "Wow. Tee-ninesy little place."

"It's the closest official settlement. We do have a few neighbors, if you want to call them that, but none nearer than twelve klicks."

"Damn. When you said 'isolated' you weren't kidding."

They motored on down into and across the valley, revealing two smaller streams that fed the lake. The house was about a third of the way up the western half. Larger than she'd thought, it was still nowhere close to the size of his last place. Noting the construction method, she said, "It's metal."

"Yeah, it's powder-coated steel. Twelve-gauge cladding with twenty centimeters of urethane foam on the inside. Minimizes heat transfer, plus it's guaranteed for fifty years."

"How'd you get it out here in the dead middle of nowhere?"

"Helicopter. Several trips."

"And you put it all up yourself?"

"I did."

"Heh. Of course you did."

Karl pulled around to the south side of the building, and Wendy saw that there was a barn or shop or something behind it, nearly as big as the house. Karl popped the windshell open and jumped out, puffing up a cloud of powder as he sank nearly to his knees. Wendy stood and retrieved her duffle from the rear of the compartment, then tossed it off to plop in the snow as she surveyed Karl's homestead. "Agrestic little place ya got here," she opined. Then she shivered and asked, "Can we go inside?"

"Sure." He held out a paw and helped her into the crook of one arm.

She grinned and said, "Home, Jeeves."

"Very good, Madam."

Her previous experience with his domiciles led her to expect it to be warm in the house, but he hadn't been joking when he'd described the place as more 'basic' than his others. He spent several minutes getting the propane heating system set up and running, and then several more putting the solar system online. The shivering vixen huddled next to a register for a while as Karl unloaded their supplies.

##

_** elsewhere **_

_The time that it took for the idiot sub-creature's grievous wounds to heal gave the Overlord ample opportunity for reflection. It had not been wasted._

_This was the first time – __**ever**__ – that one of its minions had not been in a position of temporal power. In every previous case, the sentient who learned the spells, who employed the dark magicks, who took the initiative to speak the Summoning and make contact would be someone who had already achieved a measure of autonomy. Typically he would be a priest of some high station, or in an advisory capacity to the local ruler. Now and then, he would be the ruler himself. But always and ever the goal would be the same: power. He would feed the Overlord's hunger in return for the power it could impart to him. And always it would be the Overlord who ended up in control, who eventually established a worldwide cult or government. And so until the Portal to that plane passed, a steady supply of sustenance had never been an issue, be they captured enemy soldiers or willing sacrificial victims._

_But finally the Overlord understood that this time its creature was considered a criminal, a danger to society. Those truly in power had him in their sights. Now every time he caught another sentient, the guards would show up and the useless creature would be injured. It had taken a bit of time for the king's forces to notice him, but now they would not let him be. They would not let him hunt. And their weapons were puissant indeed._

_After the most recent intrusion (Damn them! So __**nearly**__ had she been prey!) the Overlord had strained the very fabric of its plane to maintain the connection, to heal its puppet. The sub-creature was close, so close, to death. _

_Much time needed to heal it._

_Much time to lay plans._

##

Karl later found his house-mate in the front room, leaning against the frame of the picture window, her gaze unfocused and distant. He had to speak her name twice.

"… Hm?"

"I got everything on your list stuffed into the kitchen. I think I'm going to have to build us a pantry. There isn't anything _like_ enough cabinet space."

"You did say there wouldn't be." She followed him down a short hall, through the dining nook, and into the galley kitchen.

"I'm afraid this wasn't what I had in mind when I put this place here."

"I'll make do." She surveyed the many stacks of supplies and shrugged. "A pantry of some sort would be nice, though."

"I'll get started on it right after lunch."

A glance up at the clock over the stove surprised her. "Huh. Ate up _that_ morning in a hurry."

"Tempus fugit."

She started going through the boxes, looking for the items she'd store in the few cabinets she had to work with.

"If it's okay with you, I'll go stash the powersled."

"Whatever." She didn't look up from her sorting.

Later, after lunch, they sat together at the small table and (with much prompting on his part) designed the pantry. Karl had the necessary raw materials in the shed, and predicted that he could have it complete before the end of the next day. "Will that be okay?"

She shrugged, and just sat there, staring at the wall.

He watched her for a minute and finally said, "Penny for your thoughts."

It took her a few seconds to come back from wherever she'd been. "Hm?"

"You're awfully distracted."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Her answer was a yawn, quickly covered, and another of the long stretches that had become more frequent over the last hour. "Sorry. I'm just really tired."

"Okay. I got the bed made up if you want to take a nap."

"Thanks." She rose and poured herself a glass of water, leaning against the sink to sip it.

Karl couldn't _help_ but notice that the way she stood – left elbow propped on the tall counter with her slender fingers dangling, hips swung slightly right, those perfect legs crossed at the ankle – accentuated the positive where her figure was concerned. He tried to concentrate on other things. Really, he did. He worked hard to (at the least) maintain the _façade_ of a gentlefur, and not stare, but in this situation he simply had no control over which way his eyes went. On top of that, there was a heat register just to the left of the sink; it blew across her, carrying her scent directly to him. His heart rate sped up. Squeezing his eyes shut, he scrubbed his palms briefly on his pants, made the effort to center himself.

Wendy seemed utterly oblivious to any of it.

_Dear Lord, what have I done? How am I going to share a house with her? Looking like that? __**Smelling**__ like that? For weeks? Months, even? I'm gonna __**die**__!_

As she rinsed out the glass she started mumbling to herself. "Get yourself into the craziest things, girl. No way you could've seen this comin', though." She yawned again and ambled to the door, where she leaned against the wall beside it and regarded the space about a meter in front of him for a moment. "… Got a birthday comin' up. Last year, to celebrate, Teresa and Marge and Sabrina and Shonda took me to a Chippendales review." Her features were relaxed, sleepy. "There was awesome sushi an' hibachi steak an' tiramisu for dessert."

He held his peace, waiting to see where she was going with this.

"Service was great. I got two lap dances. Would've taken one of 'em home with me, 'cept the four guys who showed up were all a lot more interested in each other than in us girls." She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, not seeing him now at all, smiling gently to herself. Her voice got softer, her eyes drooped closed. "Pity, that. Couldn't get any action out of anyfur that night." Covering another yawn, she seemed to be thinking out loud more than conversing. "Had a good time anyway. 'Course it wasn't like I didn't try. Sabby and Marge both got good and drunk." She gave a low laugh. "Thought I might get lucky. They weren't _that_ drunk, though. 's too bad."

_Oh, so?_ Karl cocked an eyebrow. "Sabrina _Foxx_? Chris' wife?"

She startled and jerked her gaze up to meet his. "Huh?"

"Is that the Sabrina you meant?"

A sudden fear gripped her. _Did I let something slip?_ As the adrenaline kicked in, any thoughts of sleep shattered into icy shards and evaporated. "Wait … What'd I say?"

"You said she got drunk."

"Uh … yeah."

"And you were considering Mrs. Foxx as a … sex partner?"

"Oh, _**God!**_" She turned away from him, her muzzle fur flared in a stiff blush. "Damn it! Damn it all t' hell. I did _not_ want to have this conversation."

"… What conversation is that?"

Her mumbled reply was unintelligible, even to him. He rose and walked up behind her. "Is that a normal state of affairs? Or was it just a momentary fluke? I didn't get that part nailed down in my research."

Detecting the glint of humor in his tone, she turned back around. "Is _what_ normal?"

"Same-sex attraction."

The blush intensified. A hundred possible replies, from scathing to conciliatory, ran through her mind. But she faced him squarely, threw her shoulders back, and said, "Yes. It is. I'm bi. And I don't _care_ if you know."

Grin growing, a raised eyebrow telegraphing his amusement, he said, "You look like you're expecting me to roast you on a spit. What's up with that?"

She regarded him closely, eyes narrowing, and reached one paw up to rub the back of her neck. "But … you're a Christian."

"Yes. And that is apropos?"

"I … But … No! I mean, yes! Hang on!" She shook her head and stabbed a finger at him. "I've heard lots of gay-bashing in my time, and apart from that Von Trapp character it all came from Christians."

"Yes, well. As I believe I've mentioned before, there are a lot of furs who go by that title who don't seem to have read the Book they profess to live by."

"But … wait. I thought …"

"That's a cute little furrow in the middle of your forehead there."

"_**Oh!**_" She smacked his arm. "Why are you laughing at me? I'm confused!"

"I get that a lot."

"Karl! Don't _mess_ with me! Explain yourself."

"What's to explain? Sexual orientation is hard-wired, an established fact for the last fifteen years, and easily verifiable by anyone who cares to do the research. We are born with it. It isn't a lifestyle choice, as a lot of the televangelist pundits still like to claim. You're either attracted or you aren't. Period."

"Well … okay. Yeah, I know. I mean, I've heard that. And I've always felt that way myself, ever since … But …"

"But what?"

"Does your _church_ know you … believe that?"

He chuckled. "Wendy, there are two gay couples who are members there."

Her mouth flopped open a couple of times as she tried to digest that statement. "But … but … but …"

"You're using that word a lot."

"But doesn't the Bible say it's wrong? I _know_ I've heard that! Hell, I've had it _shouted_ at me."

"Depends on who's doing the interpretation. The Old Testament verses that mention it could more properly be saying that a heterosexual shouldn't _act_ like a homosexual. But in any case, those verses are grouped with similar dicta relating to the uniqueness of the Israelites and their ceremonial laws. Wearing red was considered to be just as bad. So was braiding your headfur the wrong way, or cooking a lamb in milk, or eating blood sausage, which I happen to love." He paused for emphasis, placing a paw gently on her shoulder. "I'll tell you how I interpret those passages: Acting in opposition to who you are is wrong. Pretending to be something you aren't is wrong. But if you like girls as much as you like guys … what that means is that you like girls as much as you like guys. No more, no less."

Unmoving, she stared at him for a good half-minute, finally saying, "Karl?"

"Yes?"

"You're doing it again."

"And what," he asked with a chuckle, "am I doing?"

"Surprising me."

"Everybody needs a hobby."

"Seems to be more of a vocation with you." She heaved a big breath and asked, "So you really aren't … I mean … you're _okay_ with it?"

_It's almost a __relief__, is what it is, considering our circumstances._ "What's not to be okay with? You are who you are."

She sighed. "I think Teresa would have liked you."

"I'm glad to hear it." He cocked his head, half a grin in place. "But it seems I derailed your story."

"Oh. Uh, it wasn't a story so much. I was just remembering what they did for me."

"They sound like good friends."

"Yeah." Eyes suddenly shimmering, she looked away. "As good as friends get." She'd gotten subdued again.

He waited. After a minute she continued, "I'll be forty-three in a few weeks." She wiped a paw across her cheeks, matting the fur. "If anyone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending it by myself, a million klicks from civilization, I'd have had him stuffed into a strait jacket."

"Wendy, please understand that if there were any other way to …"

A careless paw waved off his apology. "Don't worry about it. Can't be helped, I know. I'll try not to get my melancholy all over you." Her eyes locked with his for a moment, she stepped forward and caught him in a fierce hug and then pulled away and ran from the room.

Karl was distracted, himself, for the rest of the day. That night he had a very naughty dream in which Wendy and Sabrina figured prominently.

##


	11. Chapter 4 Tensions Part B

_**Chapter Four – Tensions – Part B**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

_** Saturday 11 March 2017, 10:00am **_

The landscape flashed by as they glided over the snow, pulling Wendy's gaze in a new direction every few seconds. Less than ten klicks south of Karl's place, and just skirting the fringes of the conifer forest, she'd already seen a herd of elk and two wolves. Now she was staring open-mouthed at the trees. Until today the biggest tree she'd had any personal experience with was the old copper beech beside the Inn. But it was a sapling compared with these monsters.

"Karl, how old _**is**_ this forest?"

"Old. It's virgin timber. Never been logged between here and those mountains, so there will be an abundance of mature trees." He looked up at some of the taller ones, running a few calculations. "I think I underestimated. Some of those old boys look to be better than seventy-five meters."

"They're _gorgeous!_ Like … like the father of all Christmas trees. No, bigger than that." She turned and caught his eye. "Can we stop and see one up close?"

"Sure." He picked a likely specimen, and they spent the next few minutes examining the giant. Wendy marked her span around its base six and a half times.

Backing up and craning her neck to try to see the canopy, she said, "I'm having trouble getting my brain around something this big being alive. It's overwhelming."

"Yes. It's majestic. I love being around huge, old trees. They feel so … permanent, or something."

Soon, though, the cold drove her back into the sled and they resumed their trip. In less than ten minutes they coasted to a stop in front of a tidy log cabin.

Wendy asked, "You said her name was Heidi, right?"

"Yes, Heidi Mortensdottir. The only neighbor I have that I actually trust to some extent."

Several seconds passed. Wendy looked at Karl, then at the cabin, then back to Karl. "Aren't we going to get out?"

"Nope."

"Umm …"

"She's got a real skittish trigger finger, and she always has at least two pistols on her. We'll wait for her to notice us."

Almost as soon as Karl finished speaking, the cabin door opened and a long, black rifle barrel poked out, followed shortly by an old, rangy wolf femme. Karl grinned and held up both paws, activating the windshell release with his elbow. "Hey, Heidi! I'm back."

Wendy, not being bulletproof, hunkered down in her seat. She'd already had enough firearms pointed in her direction to last the rest of her life.

Heidi said, "That you, Karl?"

"In the fur."

"What … is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

"Why, what do you mean? European or African?"

She flipped the safety on and walked over, grabbing his paw and shaking it. "Good to see you again, you old fireplace rug."

"How've you been, Heidi? Still keeping the aurora borealis going?"

"When I get the time, when I get the time." She turned an ice-blue eye on Wendy. "Who's your friend?"

"Heidi, I'd like you to meet Wendy Wylde. She's going to be staying at my place for a while."

The wolf sized up the other femme and snickered. "You lucky bastard."

Before Wendy could protest, Karl said, "Actually, it's not like that. There are some … heavy hitters who'd like to perforate her pelt."

"Oh, yeah? Who?"

"Bunch of career criminals I ran into a few years ago. Wrong place, wrong time on Wendy's end of things. We had to scoot."

"And you got baby-sitter duty?"

Wendy was not at all sure that she _liked_ this 'friend' of his. "I'm hardly a baby."

"Heh. Yah, I can see _that_ for sure." She gave Karl an exaggerated wink. "Still, you might catch a tumble out of the deal, she stays there long enough." And with that she turned back to her cabin. "Come on inside. Freeze t' death out here."

Karl offered the vixen a _What can you do?_ shrug. Too surprised by Heidi's comments to form a suitable rejoinder, she mutely followed him as he climbed out and trailed the wolf inside.

##

"More tea, Wendy?"

"Thanks." Once they'd all gotten settled around Heidi's stove, things became a good bit more cordial. "I like Earl Grey. It's one of my favorites."

The wolf topped off her cup and asked Karl, "These chaps that were after you … they with a gang?"

"Yeah. Big one. International."

"Ah-huh. Well, if they ever come 'round these parts, they'll bump into the Code."

Karl grinned. "Which may be why they _haven't_ come 'round these parts."

Wendy was confused. "The Code? What's that."

"Well, young 'n," said Heidi, "that's what happens when a body is obliged to protect her own, when there ain't no help close. That's when you follow the Code of the Three Esses."

"… Say what?"

"Old friend of mine came up with that. The three 'esses' are Shoot, Shovel, and Shut up."

Remembering the size of the rifle Heidi had greeted them with, she shivered a little. "I see. Well. I imagine that's … effective."

"Always worked for me." Turning back to Karl, she offered, "The Dennis place is empty. Don't know what happened to 'em. Nothin' left, not even the well pump."

"Huh. Curious."

"Yeah. Thought you might want to drop in over there and scope it out."

"I'll do that. I'm kind of surprised no one else has moved in yet. That's a nice place."

"Eh. Give 'em time. Somebody'll squat."

"Any other developments I ought to know about?"

"Hiram Lynch got hisself hitched. Don't know how much longer he'll be stayin' around. She don't like it much. City girl."

"Heh. I expected Hiram to be gone before now. He never did like the cold."

"Likes it a lot better'n she does." She slurped her tea and said, "There's a new cabin up, down south of Crenshaw's. Ain't seen any furs around it, though. Looks like it might just be a huntin' lodge or some such. Little getaway place, no outbuildin's."

"Is Chad still making his rounds?"

"Yah, good ol' Chad. He'll keep 'em on the straight and narrow."

And the conversation went on like that for close to an hour. Since none of the names or references meant anything to Wendy, she just nursed her tea and let her gaze rest on the peaceful view outside Heidi's windows. Eventually the confab slowed to a trickle, and the two made their farewells and left.

##

They met no other furs during the remainder of the time they compassed the area. Taking a long and roughly triangular path, the sled went south, then northwest, then northeast back to his place, enthralling Wendy with the ever-changing scenes of hill and plain and forest. But the spectacular views, though gorgeous, were not very filling, and it was closer to supper than lunch before they were done. By the time they arrived home, the two of them were practically vibrating with stomach growls.

She groused, "I wish we'd thought to pack a picnic basket."

"So do I. I don't normally go this long without eating something. Frankly, the trip took a lot longer than I'd anticipated."

"Eh. Some of that's my fault. I did keep saying, 'Oh, let's go look over there!' whenever you'd mention heading back."

He gave her a warm smile. "No worries. It was worth a hunger pang or two to see the looks on your face."

"You want to go ahead and have supper? Or just a snack?"

"Supper, definitely. That is, if there's something you can fix quickly."

"How about a chowder?"

"Oh, heck, yeah! I could really go for a bowl."

"Or six, knowing you. Okay, chowder it is."

Wendy hopped out first and zipped into the kitchen. When Karl walked in she said, "Hey, you can help."

"Who, me?"

"Sure. Here's the flour. Butter's in the fridge. Start the roux."

"… Roux?"

"Yeah, I need a blond roux to bring out the …" She gave him a quizzical look. "You do know what roux is, don't you?"

"Some kind of sauce, isn't it?"

"What do you mean 'some kind of sauce'? Haven't you ever made a white sauce?"

"Uh … no."

"And here I thought you could cook! You made us a great meal that time you fished me out of the creek."

"Oh, I can fry fish. Or fry anything else, for that matter. If I have to cook for myself, that's what I do."

"But no baking? No casseroles? No sauces?"

"… Not really."

"Soups? Not even chili?"

"Um … no?"

Walking over to face him, she said, "We're going to have to do something about your lack of cooking ability. I think a few lessons in the basics are in order."

So, under her skilled supervision, Karl assembled their meal. The results satisfied her and thrilled him. Over the next few days, he learned a great deal about what makes food the sensory delight it can be.

His _greater_ delight was that he got to work in such close proximity to Wendy. The time passed in light banter and wordplay, the crafting of new dishes and her calm constructive criticism. His inventor's heart swelled with the joy of creation, the pleasure of consuming what he had prepared.

And the touches of her paw on his, the swish and press of their fur as they moved past one another in the narrow kitchen, her scent lingering in his mind after all was cleaned and put away enlivened his dreams with images and scenes that came to dominate his waking thoughts as well. As the days passed, as she became, in his perception, more comfortable around him, and as their communications tended ever more toward the non-verbal, he came to realize that he never wanted it to end.

But he knew it would, knew that he couldn't keep her here forever. Eventually, maybe in a few months, maybe sooner, the lords of the Cartel would give up, or decide they had bigger fish to fry than one poor vixen who'd had the misfortune to be among his circle of friends. She was smart and inquisitive, and usually stayed right with him whenever he took the opportunity to spy on the doings of their enemies. When the time came she would know.

Anyway, he could in no wise deceive her. He loved her too much to do that to her, unrequited though his feelings might be. One day, much sooner than he desired, they would quit this remote land, return to the "civilized" world, and she would be gone. He did his best not to think about it.

It didn't bear thinking about.

##


	12. Chapter 4 Tensions Part C

_**Chapter Four – Tensions – Part C**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

_** Wednesday 15 March 2017, 8:45pm **_

Her paws being occupied with a couple of mugs of hot cocoa, Wendy used a hip to bump open the door to Karl's study. He glanced up as she entered, grinning when he spotted her burden. "I thought I smelled chocolate."

She smiled in return, passing him one. "Felt like a treat, and chocolate is sovereign in all such matters."

He took a sip and sighed. "Oh, kid. You put a little cinnamon in it."

"Yes. What else?"

Swirling the contents of his mug, he inhaled deeply. "Vanilla. Coffee, just a touch. And … is that mace?"

"Very good."

"Darned straight it is," he agreed, drinking again.

"Which satellite are you using?"

He turned his attention back to the monitor. "The circumpolar one. I lost contact with the NOAA tracker at 18:22, but this one came in range at 17:20 today and I won't lose it until 21:10. The window is shrinking by eight minutes a day, but I'll still have access to the two geosynchronous satellites as long as the ionosphere behaves itself. Those aren't great signals, but I get by."

"Heh! There you go again."

"There I go? Where I go?"

"You just rattle off stuff that anyone else would have to consult a chart to find out."

"Hardly _any_one. What you're hearing is the ease of familiarity."

"But you _can_ remember whatever you want to, right?"

"Yes. Essentially."

"Was that intentional?"

"You mean on the part of the medicos who crafted us?"

She nodded.

"Not really. They aimed to speed up our neural processes, which they did. A lot. The eidetic memory was a side effect."

"Is it like that all the time?"

"You're awfully curious tonight."

"Humor me. It keeps me from being bored. If I get bored, I start dreaming up practical jokes."

He held up both paws in horror. "Well, we can't have _that_, now, can we?"

"Smart ass. So. Is it like that all the time?"

"My nervous system in 'resting state' has a processing speed, if you want to call it that, around three or four times as fast as a normal fur's. When I'm alert, it's about six times as fast. When I hit certain Augments, it doubles that."

"How does that work with that 'Augment' process?"

He grinned. "It works _juuuuuust_ fine."

She snapped him with the dish towel.

"Sorry. You really shouldn't give me straight lines like that."

"That's _**my**_ schtick, Buster. It's off limits."

"Says you." He leaned back and swiveled around. "But to answer your question, the Augmentation is a mixture of physical and neural alterations, depending on which ability is affected. Eyesight, for example, is more physical than mental. My eye's configuration changes, narrowing the field and magnifying the center, but there is also a change in the way the information is processed in my brain. It's like I'm able to … pay more attention to what's going on." He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It's difficult to explain."

"Okay." She mulled that for a moment and said, "I know we've gone over some of your … peculiarities before. You're strong, and fast, and pretty much bullet proof, and wounds disappear, and you never forget anything. Right?"

"Right."

"But that's all just you, all the time."

"… Yeah. So?"

"So is any other sensory stuff included in the Augment package besides vision?"

"Sure. Hearing. Tactile sensation. Olfactory function. Those three are primarily neural changes. The average fur's hearing is already so keen that if it got much more acute he'd be able to hear his own blood flowing."

"You're kidding."

"No, seriously. You'll see what I mean after you've been here a few more weeks. Our world is normally so noisy that we unconsciously block out most of it. My Augmentation allows me to _selectively_ block the noise so I can concentrate on the signal. But your hearing will get better, the longer you spend in quiet surroundings. It's part of our natural heritage; that and the sense of smell."

"So the Augmentation is just sensory?"

"Oh, heck, no! I never said that. I can boost my speed, too."

"Ah. So when you toted me back to the truck …?"

"Yes. I'd kicked in the Augment."

"And I'll repeat my earlier question. How's that work? What happens?"

"Ah. I see where you're coming from." He pushed back from the desk and swiveled around to face her squarely. "My basic frame is durable enough to take a tremendous amount of punishment, as you know. When I Augment my speed, my body produces a couple of rather unique hormones. One is what you might call a 'super-adrenaline'. It allows me to move that fast. The other enhances my healing ability. Being in Augmented speed, assuming I use it to actually move somewhere, damages my body. It stretches and tears my joints and muscles on a microscopic level. But the damage is healed just about as fast as it occurs. Nevertheless, it takes a toll on my system after a while, and I get _really_ hungry."

"Huh. So, what happens if you don't get anything to eat?"

"I have no idea. I have thus far been able to avoid that situation. I don't imagine it would be pleasant."

"Wild." She studied him briefly and then asked, "Do you have to do that for strength, too?"

"Um … well, that's kind of a … hard question to answer. Technically, I do have an Augment for strength. But I never use it. Well, _almost_ never."

"Wait. You said you can get, like, a ton over your head. Is that just with …"

"No, no. That's the enhanced musculature they pumped in me; that and a boatload of exercise. Even if I just coasted, I'd still be two or three times as strong as your average gym rat. But the strength Augment … takes a lot out of me."

"More than the speed thing?"

"Oh, yeah. If I concentrate, and – I guess 'flip the switch' is as good an analogy as any – if I flip the switch in my head that … _accesses_ that Augment, my strength approximately doubles."

"Holy shit!"

"But in the field it has only been necessary – that is, I've only _thought_ it necessary – twice. In retrospect it was probably only necessary once … and not at all since I left Omicron."

"Huh. That was a while back. Can you even still do it?"

He stilled himself and concentrated for a moment, eyes closed, forehead creased. Then he relaxed and said, "Yep. Not a problem."

"How … how do you know?"

"Close your eyes."

She did. "Okay. Is this an experiment?"

"Kinda. Now hold your arms out in front of you. Good. Now touch the tips of your index fingers together."

"And the point of this is?"

"What you are doing is called proprioception."

"Yes, I know the term." She opened her eyes and let her arms drop. "You mean you can use your Augments the same way?"

"In a manner of speaking. As I said, it's hard to put into words. And I have a _lot_ of words I might use."

"All right. And you say it takes a lot out of you?"

"Yes. You know how I have to take in eight to twelve thousand calories a day to keep this system operational?"

"Yeah. Darn good thing you got money."

"Point. Well, the strength Augment kicks in the afterburners on my metabolism. I can only really stay in strength mode for a few minutes, and then I'm wiped. And I eat like a starved wolf afterward. So I just don't do it."

"That makes sense." She pondered in silence for a bit. Considering how his connection timetable was being compressed, Karl went back to his investigations.

The disappearance of the three TFN operatives had pissed off the hornets, but good. They'd flooded the area around Quebec City with eyes and ears, hunting for some scrap of a clue as to where they'd gone. Karl had to chuckle at that, knowing that two of them had gone into his Shop-Vac. He'd carefully dropped a few well-placed hints and tips to the public websites of the Security Forces and Interpol, and the subsequent raids had netted better than a dozen terrorists.

He nodded grimly to himself. _Madame Schmedtte should be stewing in her own bile by now. The rancid old crow._

"And you worked for that Omicron bunch for a few years, right?"

"Pardon?" Her question jerked him back to the present.

"You did anti-terror full time _officially_ for some years, didn't you? I mean, you told me quite a few stories about some of the stuff you did, and …"

"Yah. I joined the ISB in '89, and worked as a field agent off and on until '98 when I won a spot with Omicron Platoon. I was out of action for nineteen months while they did their Frankenstein thing with us. Team Omicron executed its first mission in February of 2000. Nothing really complicated, basically just to get our feet wet and see how we performed as a team."

"What kinds of missions?"

"Recoveries, mostly."

"… And that means?"

"Ah. Sorry. Recovery of earlier Augments. See, the program had been in place for some time. Not at the level it was when Omicron came to be; the first go-round they tended to go more full-spectrum on the abilities, but not increase any of them too much. No sub-dermal weave, no mechanical muscle enhancements. They had limited success, and some of those Stage One and Stage Two Augments still work for the ISB."

"Whoa. Back up. What's a Stage One versus a Stage Two versus you?"

"Stage One Augments were primarily physical. They wanted a stronger, tougher operative. They succeeded, usually, but the increases weren't really what the top brass wanted."

"Oh. So, no improved senses or stuff like that?"

"Right. Not usually. There were a very few that showed some unusual side effects, but nothing they could replicate."

"So why did they have to be recovered? You misplace 'em?"

"Eh. Not in so many words. Most of them were just line agents. When the program ended, they went back to what they'd been doing before, in most cases. Some left the Bureau, went into other fields of endeavor, dropped out of sight. When Prosyonni took over he decided the lost sheep needed to be returned to the fold." His face darkened. "If I'd known then what he was all about …" A shake of the head banished that line of thought. "Anyway, they weren't hard to find, and most of them readily agreed to return. Some had regressed, lost their Augments to one degree or another. A few put up a fight, but it was never a problem."

"And the Stage Two furs?"

"Um. That was different … different and worse in a lot of ways. Prosyonni was in charge by then, and he had his own agenda. He got enough of the scientists under his thumb that he was able to effect some … clandestine Augments."

"What do you mean?"

"Private citizens. He'd have them abducted, and kept sedated for the duration of the Augment process. Then they'd be returned to their lives with a cover story about an accident and a bad case of amnesia."

"Oh, you're kidding! That's so lame!"

"Lame or not, it never backfired on him that I could find out."

"That guy was a piece of work."

"You needn't put any effort into convincing _me_ on that point. I was the one who tracked him down, you know."

"Yeah, that's what you said." Her brow furrowed in sympathy.

He wasn't in the mood to chase down that trail, so he resumed his explanation. "The Stage Two Augments were a few notches farther up on the durability scale. That's where they first started seeing some accelerated healing and some psychic effects that were actually useful."

"Useful as opposed to what?"

"As opposed to being able to tell what color something was by touching it. Interesting, but not something you'd rely on to help in field work."

"Ah. And the useful abilities would be …?"

"Telepathy. Contact telekinesis. Matter reorganization."

Her eyebrows rose. "Oh. Yeah, that sounds useful. What's that last one?"

"Only one case I know of. She can cause any material to rust or corrode or weaken or rot or just fall apart by touching it and willing it to happen."

"Heh! Escape artist."

"And don't think she didn't use it for that either." He chuckled and said, "One time she snuck into this terrorist cell's armory and altered the metal in the breech mechanisms of all their guns. The next time any of them used one, it would explode in his face."

Wendy gave a hoot of appreciation. "Cute. And does she work for the ISB now?"

"Actually the last time I checked she worked for the Department of Defense."

She waved his elaboration off. "Whatever! What became of the lost ones?"

"Most of them we found. Many were unaware that they _had_ any Augmentation and thought we were nuts. The majority came back for testing and then left again. Some managed to elude us entirely, or were insufficiently documented so that we couldn't find them."

"So you might have some loose cannons running around out there?"

"They aren't _my_ loose cannons. But yes, there are definitely some Stage Two Augments unaccounted for."

"Hmh." Thinking that over didn't give her warm fuzzies. "That's a little … unsettling. That there could be others out there like you who maybe don't share your appreciation for doing the right thing."

"There are some people in positions of influence in the ISB who are of the same opinion."

"Well." Her morbid interest in that part of his story seemed to damp a bit. She sniffed and shook her head. "But then your Omicron bunch got done with shakedowns, right?"

"Right. Later that year we started major missions in earnest."

"Yeah." She did a quick mental calculation. "And your team got ambushed in 2007."

"Yes." He centered himself and watched his breathing. Time did nothing to dull the razor edge of that memory.

"And you're the only one left."

"The only survivor of Team Omicron. I don't count the earlier Augments."

"Which raises an interesting question …"

"Yes?"

"Why _aren't_ there more like you?"

"Oh. Well, for two very good reasons. First, of the sixteen agents who volunteered for the positions, only six of us survived the treatment."

"Holy shit! That's a hell of an attrition rate!"

"Tell me about it. Good agents aren't that easy to come by. When the Joint Chiefs found out about that, they nearly shut the project down."

"Bet they did. Wow. Ten dead out of sixteen. Crap." She caught his eye and asked, "Didn't any of their families raise a stink about it?"

"Only those of us with no living relatives were accepted into the program."

"Oh. Okay, that makes sense." She pondered in silence for a moment and then said, "Still, I'd think there would be at least _some_ Big Secret Government Organization that would have tried to continue the experiments."

"Doubtless there would have been, if the scientist in charge hadn't died."

"Oh. Huh …" She tapped a finger on the end of her snout. "Wouldn't they carry on anyway? He had to have left some notes or something, I'd think."

His dry chuckle contradicted her. "To be blunt, no. See, he and his assistant were symbiotes in a cognitive resonance."

Wendy barked a laugh and held up a paw. "The words are all English, but they don't fit that way. What the hell is a cognitive resonance?"

"That's when the whole is one _**heck**_ of a lot greater than the sum of the parts. Doctor Maginot was a genius in his own right. Doctor Felia, though probably not a genius, and certainly not on the order of his boss, was an insightful and thorough researcher. But when the two of them worked together, it was close enough to magic to scare me."

She frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Cognitive resonance is when two minds that share a wavelength reinforce one another."

"Hang on. You're telling me these guys were psychic?"

"Nothing so spectacular; or maybe, nothing so mundane. Yeah, I like that better. See, when they worked together, they made these incredible, impossible leaps of calculation and logic. Doc Maginot would go tearing around the lab, swiping various ingredients off the shelves and mixing them at breakneck speed. He'd adjust everything on the fly, and Felia would be right there with him, knowing what to do as if they shared a mind. Which I guess they did, in a way. And as I said, Felia was very thorough. He recorded everything."

"But then one of them died?"

"Yep. Doc Maginot slipped on a wet spot in his bathroom and bashed his brains out on the edge of his tub."

"Well _that's_ horrible!"

"That's what our director thought. But there wasn't much he could do about it."

"And they didn't leave _any_ notes? Anywhere? What happened to them?"

"Yeah, well, about that. When Maginot died, Felia popped a cork, so to speak. He came to the facility that same night, when they were early in the second transition phase of Omicron II. He chatted up the guards, then gassed them and slit their throats."

"Oh." She pulled up sharp, her eyes wide. "Uhboy. I don't think I like where this is going."

"No, you don't. He went to where the agents were held in stasis while their immune systems were being reinforced, and administered a lethal dose of mercuric bromide to each one. Then he took all the equipment he could move and all the records they had and made a huge pile in the main lab. He doused it with a few gallons of denatured alcohol and set it on fire. And then he climbed in."

". . . . . . . . . Good . . . . . God …"

"I doubt he was thinking of God at the time."

Wendy, slightly ill, looked away. "I think I'll turn in now."

"Maybe you should listen to some soothing music first."

"Yeah, good idea. And I'll make myself some chamomile tea, too."

##

_** elsewhere **_

_How it had gotten into this ridiculous predicament still bothered the Overlord, but it decided to leave that chestnut alone for now. It was plain that if left to his own devices, the sub-creature would continue to run afoul of the authorities, continue to heap wound upon wound._

_That would cut into the food supply._

_That situation could not be allowed to persist._

_So the Overlord had formulated a solution. It would tax his minion's abilities, leave him even more of a burned-out shell than he already was, but it should convince the guards to give up the chase._

_Tracing down the filmy silver thread that bound it to the sub-creature, it tested the strength again, making triply sure. It could not afford a mistake. But the astral link was finally firm enough. Slowly, so as not to kill the puling thing, the Overlord fed its commands into the sub-creature's mind. Soon, soon it would feed again._


	13. Chapter 4 Tensions Part D

_**Chapter Four – Tensions – Part D**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

_** Tuesday 21 March 2017, 3:00pm **_

With daily highs still hovering around minus five, Wendy spent as little time outside as she could. Even just to go from the house to the shed she would put on her parka and mukluks most of the time. This was one of those times.

Except when she was working in the shed with him, Karl kept it pretty cold out there. The temperature never bothered him and he claimed it was good for the electronics, so it usually stayed around freezing. In anticipation of the warm weather that he knew would be poking about soon, the wolverine had made plans to give the powersled a hovercraft option; he'd been spending several hours with it each of the last three days. She wanted to talk to him while he worked on the vehicle, so she added her insulated over-pants and hat before braving the wind. Especially near dawn and dusk the constant breeze could transform suddenly into a gale, and drive the wind-chill down to minus forty or fifty. She wanted none of that.

Her paw had just released the door knob and she was turning to head to the shed when a movement caught her notice where no movement should be. The sight jerked her to a stop, and she stood there, muzzle hanging open.

_[ [ i greet you, daughter ] ]_

_**No!**_ her mind screamed at her. _**It isn't possible!**_

_[ [ i would welcome you to the wide ground ] ]_

She stared at the royal fox, straight and stiffly formal as he sat on a wind-smoothed outcropping. It could not be the same one. It just couldn't. But he had the same bearing, the same tone in his sending. "Who are you?"

_[ [ your question bears no meaning ] ]_

"How did you find me?"

_[ [ we are always drawn to those with the gift ] ]_

"Okay … so, what do you want?"

_[ [ need there be something i want? ] ]_

Annoyed at the uncertainty and downright weirdness of her position, she raised her voice. "You always want **something**! Either you need to warn me or … or … I mean come on! You just do!"

The shed door opened and Karl emerged. "Is something wrong? I heard you …" He saw the look on her face, followed her gaze out to the fox, and stopped, becalmed.

_[ [ please extend greetings to your friend ] ]_

Wendy glanced around at Karl and said, in an exasperated tone, "He says 'Hi'." Turning her attention back to the fox, she said, "Are you telling me this is just a social visit? You just dropped by to chat?"

_[ [ chat ] ] _ The concept seemed to intrigue him._ [ [_ _yes - - we will chat - - but not at this time - - later ] ] _ And with that he turned and trotted off toward the birches where he was soon lost to sight.

"Would you care to tell me what that was about?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself." She gestured at the shed. "Is it habitable in there?"

"If you mean 'Is the heat on?' then yes."

"Great. Let's go. I've got a story you should find … interesting."

He held the door for her. "I'm all ears."

##

_** Wednesday 29 March 2017, 11:00am **_

The staff came in high, swinging down at her neck. She parried the blow and swept a counterstrike at his knee, which was parried in turn, but it gave her an opportunity to use the other end to strike at his shoulder. He connected with the end, guiding it past rather than blocking, and then following through with a capture move. Her staff clattered to the floor.

She stepped back, shaking her stinging paws. "Ouch."

"That was excellent, Wendy! Well done!"

"Says the guy still holding his staff."

"If that had been a fight with an ordinary opponent, he'd be curled up on the ground about now, minus the use of one arm. A flawless strike." He used a foot to roll her staff toward him and flip it into the air, and then tossed it to her. "Once more? I have a variation I'd like to try."

"If it was so bloody flawless, why did I lose my staff?"

"Because I'm faster. And if you can do that well against me, nofur else is going to have a prayer."

She huffed, still panting a little, and flowed into a defensive stance. _Just tag him! Tag him __**somewhere**__! Leave here with a shred of dignity for once!_ "Okay. Bring it."

They battled for fifty-eight seconds before he tried the maneuver he'd mentioned. To his extreme delight, she responded with the perfect foil, and his staff ricocheted off the ceiling. Her follow-up lunge just managed to brush the hair of his chest as he spun out of the way, reaching a long arm out to snag the wooden rod on its way to the ground. He tucked and rolled, springing erect several meters away, and pumped his staff in the air. "Yes! You did it! Wendy, you _did_ it! You _rule_, kid!"

She was breathing hard, but couldn't stop a victorious grin. "I did, didn't I?" _pant-pant_ "I touched you."

"You did. I am so impressed. You're a natural with that stick."

"Does that mean … that we can … take a break?" _pant-pant_

"Sure, sure! I need to go check on my roast anyway." Karl had gone hunting the day after their visit to Heidi and returned with a young mule deer. Wendy knew exactly what should be done with it, and had seasoned it to hang for a while so it could age properly. A prime cut of the meat had marinated all the previous day, and the result currently resided in the oven. Both of them anticipated lunch with salivary glands awash.

"Great. I'll just … stay here … and rest."

He was gone for several minutes, plenty of time to get her wind back. She wandered over to the area of the shed that Karl had set up for his weight-training. Totally custom, the equipment little resembled anything she'd ever seen in a gym. But then she'd never known anyone else who could bench twelve hundred kilos, either. All of the machines were sized for the big wolverine, so she really couldn't even try them out. And the smallest free weight in the set was a hundred kilos. She could get it off the ground, briefly, if she was braced correctly and strained everything she had. He did French curls with a pair of them, to cool down when he was finished.

It served to give her a fresh perspective on what he'd meant that time he chastised her for sneaking into his bed. Sighing a little, she sat down on the bench

The door opened and he came back in. "I'd say it's ready. Care to come have a look?"

"Hah! Try keeping me away." She bounded eagerly for the exit, racing past him into the house … and his eyes drank in every tiny movement of her lithe form.

It had been about a week after their arrival when she first broached the subject of training. Having seen his weight room, and decided that there were worse ways she could spend her time, she asked him whether he'd be willing to fill in as acting sensei. Karl needed no urging there, judging that anything that would tend to increase the amount of time he spent in close proximity to the charming vixen was a good thing. If not occupied with something constructive, she tended to hole up in the bedroom with the headphones on.

Upon inspection, she pronounced the meat perfect. Karl tossed the salad while Wendy whipped up a pan of gravy from the drippings to go with the crusty bread they had made together the day before.

She caught his eye on her twice during the meal. He flushed slightly both times, and the second time she dimpled at him. "Something on your mind?"

_Think, man! Think!_ He slowly chewed and swallowed, then took a drink. "You know, you're one of the most apt pupils it's ever been my pleasure to train with."

_That was __**not**__ what he was thinking._ "Well, thank you." She considered him for a moment, decided to give him a little push. "Anything else?"

"Ah … well, nothing worth mentioning. It's just that I'm amazed how much skill you've picked up in a little over two weeks."

"The sword cannot claim to instruct the smith. I have a good teacher."

He blushed again, turned his attention back to his food.

Wendy shot him a few more covert glances, but didn't catch him again.

##

_** Sunday 02 April 2017, daybreak **_

Playing tag with the feathered edges of wakefulness, Wendy finally dragged her eyes open. She caught sight of a large box sitting on the chair beside her bed, and sat up, blinking in surprise. There was an envelope sitting on top of the box with her name engraved on it. Carefully she popped the slight seal and removed the card, a spare but beautiful watercolor of her profile. On the back it simply said:

**_Happy Birthday _**

**_– Karl_**

A slim paw traced the surface of the portrait; it was a painting, not a lithograph. _How did he do this? When did he have it done? _Turning her attention to the box, she saw that it wasn't sealed. She lifted the lid and gasped in delight.

"I hope you like it. I didn't have a lot of time to pick it out."

Lifting her eyes to the doorway, she grinned at the big wolverine. "Pull the other one. I know you made this."

"Well, yeah, I made the case. I didn't make the paint set, though."

Wendy lifted her gift out of the box and set it on her lap. The case was about fifty centimeters square and ten deep, crafted of burl cherry and tricked out with scrolled hardware of polished titanium. A Lexan window in the lid allowed her to see the array of paints, brushes and other tools. She noticed that underneath the case he had placed in the box a supply of watercolor paper and several canvasses, already stretched. "This is wonderful! How'd you know I wanted to paint?"

"You mentioned it on two occasions, last fall."

"Heh. And you've got elephants totally knocked where memory is concerned." She turned a warm smile his way. "Thank you, Karl. This is really sweet."

Her praise pulled a goofy grin across his face. "I'm just glad you like it."

Moving the case from her lap to the bed, she got up and padded over to him, reaching a paw up to his face. "C'mere."

He leaned down. She kissed the side of his muzzle, just a light kiss, but warm nonetheless. It certainly warmed him.

"This means a lot, Karl. I know it's tough on you, too, being stuck out here …"

His thoughts ran from '_Not nearly so tough as you might imagine_' to '_Yes, this is the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life_' but he didn't voice any of it.

"… and you've been really great, trying to keep me occupied, keep me from getting bored. And this is something I can use to entertain myself, without bothering you all the time."

"Believe me, it's no bother."

_Oh, I can believe that, Mr. Transparent._ "Nevertheless. I love it. Thank you." And she hugged him.

And hugged him.

And continued to hug him.

Certain portions of his anatomy began to realize what was going on. He twisted slightly to minimize contact and cleared his throat. "I-I've made us breakfast. All that's left to do is poaching the eggs."

A small squeal accompanied her pulling back to look up at his face. "Poached? You making Eggs Benedict?"

"Ay-yep. And bacon and toast and a fruit compote."

"Hot damn!" Clapping her paws, she bounced a few times in glee and then glanced down at her nightshirt. "Do I need to change?"

"… Uh … That is …" He swallowed and forged ahead, "not on my account." The nightshirt was a filmy, silky thing, not really suited for cold weather, but Karl kept it comfortably warm in the house. And he absolutely _loved_ the way it clung to her curves.

"Great! Let's get to poaching!" She grabbed his paw and pulled him toward the kitchen.

##


	14. Chapter 4 Tensions Part E

_**Chapter Four – Tensions – Part E**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

_** Saturday 08 April 2017, 10:45pm **_

The color scheme that had come with Karl's pre-fabricated dwelling was a neutral one (aren't they all?), heavy on the beige and taupe. He'd mentioned that fact to Wendy before they left Quebec, and she – maintaining that she was allergic to beige – had arranged for some paint to be included in their supplies. Her room now rested in a pleasing palette of deep blue, pale yellow, and sage, trimmed in bright white. None of that could be seen at the moment, though.

Snug in her bed, lights out, shutters closed, she lay sleepless, thinking about the wolverine in the next room. Examining his motives … and her own. Turning onto her back, her face brushed against the soft Egyptian cotton of her pillowcase. The sheets were of the same fabric, chosen in the short days before their hurried departure. In like manner, she had acquired the quilted silk nightgown she wore. She luxuriated in the light, supple, deliciously slippery and surprisingly warm garment. He had bought it for her without hesitation. Not that the money meant much to him. She knew he had plenty, though precise figures had never been discussed. But, upon reflection, she could tell that he derived tremendous pleasure from making her happy – the terrorist attack notwithstanding.

The question that nagged at her was, at the base of all things, why? Was that just his nature? Or, as she suspected_** very** strongly_, was he in love with her? All the signs were there, in spades. He did everything in his power, used the flimsiest of excuses, to be with her, and the closer, the better. He was teaching her some of the more effective throws and joint locks now, and physical contact was a given. She knew the feel, the smell of an aroused male when it knocked her across the snoot. He was one, huge, pent-up volcanic mountain range of denied lust. Of that she was sure.

And yet … he'd made no move. His contact with her body was never what some prudes might view as 'inappropriate'. Curse the luck. Nor had he even _broached_ the subject of intimacy. It was as if they were in some sort of old-time Regency-period romance, where a 'proper' Lady could be 'ruined' if her reputation were in the slightest bit 'sullied'.

_Make me gag._

So what was it? If he loved her, why couldn't he just come out and say it?

And … and why did she … _want_ him to say it … so very much?

That was the crux of her issues at present. What was she feeling?

Was this love?

She thought it could be. Long years had passed since she'd last let herself be trapped that way. Arthur had seemed perfect in many ways, and a lot of those attributes were not dissimilar from what attracted her to Karl. Arthur had a ready wit, he was tall and strong and rakishly good looking, always attentive and loving … at least until he got mixed up with that stupid cult. He'd had a great job and made plenty of money. Not that _she_ hadn't, with her position at StrongArm.

_Best not to dwell on that just now, dear. It's a dead issue._

Dead. Yes. But not discarded. It was a fall-back, just in case.

_In case of what? You don't honestly think Karl would dump you, do you?_

Hah! No. Under no circumstances. Dump her? The fur who turned the city of Quebec upside down and shook it until he found her? The fur who saw to it that she got the medical treatment she needed after being abused at the paws of a sadist? Who put her up in the swankest hotel in the city? Who guarded her with the ferocity of a she-bear over her cubs, and seemed, on the face of it, to put her well-being above his own?

_And who has never – not once – asked for anything in return, much less sexual favors._

Was she in love? Did she even want to be? She didn't allow her mind to wander these paths. She just _didn't_. It wasn't safe. Her motto, with a few exceptions, had been "Keep it Light" and she judged that tactic sound. The recent unpleasantness with Ellen and her new gigolo proved the sagacity of that policy.

_So what's up with these feelings? Do you love him or don't you?_

What was so different about him? How had he gotten so thoroughly under her skin? She thought suddenly of the time they bumped into each other in Quinn's store, after (so she'd believed) they'd resolved that misunderstanding the night of the hayride. Just catching sight of him had sent her emotions into overdrive. Given what she now knew of his capabilities, he must surely have picked up on it. She blushed, and pushed the memory away.

_But he never said anything, did he?_

No. He didn't. Ever the perfect gentlefur, even when it must be killing him. Always solicitous, always ready to lend a paw, always with a casual _bon mot_ that set her to laughing. It was as if he'd made her happiness his goal in life. Examples flooded her mind unbidden. The more knowledge he picked up about cooking, the more he insisted on cooking _for_ her. The more she learned about the martial arts, the more he coaxed her to excel, to better her previous best, to become truly dangerous to anyone who might offer her harm.

_To keep me safe._

That was how he viewed it, she was positive. She had never felt so … cherished. So important. As if his world hung on her whim, except in a good way. She fingered the star sapphire that lay between her breasts. He got all mysterious whenever she asked him about it, but she was more than half convinced that he really had made it and was just too modest to say so. But then, he said a friend had made it, and he never lied to her any more. Well, okay, technically, he hadn't _lied_ to her ever, not in the sense of fabricating a falsehood. The mutual respect they now shared precluded such dissembling.

And with that thought, a satisfied, secure warmth spread its blanket over her.

_Yes. It's love. You aren't imagining things._

"I love him," she whispered to the dark. "I love him." And she lay there for a time, smiling, content in the knowledge that was now hers.

_But does he know?_

An excellent question. He might not. No, he almost certainly doesn't, given that she just figured it out for herself.

_He's a male. Even if he is, himself, in love he'll still be oblivious. Hints should be applied with a sledge hammer._

Which raised the question of how to tell him. She had scared him away before, so the direct route was not an option. He had to be comfortable, had to feel as if he weren't being backed into a corner. Not that there was anywhere he could go, given their location.

_Slow and easy, then. Show him. Don't just tell him. Let him feel that he is loved. He can't fight that for long._

A happy little sigh escaped her as she turned once more. Sleep soon claimed her.

##

_** Wednesday 12 April 2017, 8:30am **_

And just like that, it was spring.

They awoke this morning to find that the jet stream had left for more northerly climes, the temperature had risen to nearly five degrees, and a soft rain was busily melting the snow. They sat on the porch most of the morning, watching it from the glider, Wendy snuggled under his arm.

##

During Karl's long absence, the uncertain ground had not stayed put. A few months after he completed construction, beneath his home a tiny fissure opened, the telltale of what might one day be an artesian spring, if it played its cards right. But the crumbled earth was surrounded on three sides by the rock that Karl had surveyed while searching for a good foundation. He could not be blamed for missing this.

When the opening first occurred, the concrete just above it had cracked, and a large chunk fell off, lodging in the damp earth half a meter down. The concrete that was left to make up the floor was quite thin in one spot. Nothing changed for almost three years.

During the previous warm season, a family of red-backed voles had discovered the fissure and quickly moved in. It was beautifully protected, and there were already several sorts of the fungus they liked to eat growing along the sides. They lined their rocky fort with tufts of sweet grass, and stored many tubers and roots and seeds in their larder. Four litters had been born since then, and the colony prospered.

Today, though, something new happened. Suddenly it got warm. The melting snow made travel dangerous, so they all stayed in the burrow. At one point there was a tiny tremor, the slightest shifting of the earth. The roof overhead made a subdued popping noise, and an irregular pancake of concrete fell down among them. Luckily no one was hurt. They came creeping back from where they had all scattered, and crawled over and around the jagged thing. One of them scrabbled at its base where it had landed on some of their food, and came out with a root a few minutes later. Shortly they forgot the incident, and life returned to the way it had always been.

However, one enterprising young female noticed something. Where the roof had before been seamless, a sovereign protection for them, now there was a hole. A tiny thing, yes, but a hole. She climbed the rough sides to the apex and stuck her inquisitive nose into the opening: Warmth. Comforting, dry, and nearly dark.

She climbed through and explored the new place, then quickly went back and told the others. More of them came to see, to feel, to luxuriate in the warm, flat surfaces, the dozens of tiny lights, blinking or steady, and the various cubbies and tunnels and shelves and root bundles that filled it.

Later that day they started moving their larder into the new addition.

##


	15. Chapter 4 Tensions Part F

_**Chapter Four – Tensions – Part F**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

**Her kisses left something to be desired –**

**The rest of her.**

##

_** Monday 01 May 2017, noon **_

_Three weeks._

The refrain kept running through her mind. _Three weeks it has been. I've done everything but write it down for him, and still he hasn't shown any sign that he knows I love him. _She may have been overstating her case a bit … but not by much.

_Time, then, to change tactics._

Deep in thought, Wendy made her way over to the work shed to shake the dinner bell at Karl.

She leaned in through the open door and peered around. Most of the rear half of the power sled had been disassembled, and the components lay in disorderly piles here and there on the floor. Karl's legs stuck out from under the fan housing, whence issued ratcheting sounds as he loosened or tightened something.

She walked over to him and tapped a foot with one of hers. He slid out from under the vehicle and gave her a quizzical look.

"Esurient?" she asked.

"Assuredly." He stood and followed her to the door.

As they made their way back to the main building, Wendy reached over and clasped his paw. He glanced at her and his brow rose momentarily, but she made no comment, nor did she look his way. After a moment he laced his fingers with hers.

He held the door for her, as usual, and she released his paw to enter, going straight to the kitchen and the generous lunch laid out there.

##

_** 1:50pm **_

A light shower had started during their meal, and evidently decided it liked the area. The two furs sat in the big glider on the front porch, watching the rain, listening to the soft drumming on the roof. It being around fifteen degrees, and a bit gusty, Wendy wore her heavier jacket over the long, wool dress. Karl wore his standard loose shorts, and nothing else. He'd left the utility apron in the shed.

Wendy glanced over at him. _Time to put my cards on the table._ "Would you like to know something interesting?"

Karl perked up at her question. "Yes, I believe I would." She hadn't used sentences of more than three words in several days. He'd been doing his level best to respect her need for time to herself, but it hadn't been easy.

She paused for several seconds, then turned toward him and put her left arm up on the back of the glider. "You remind me of my Dad."

His muzzle quirked a bit. "Well I am old enough to _be_ your Dad."

"I'm serious." Her brow knitted. "You really put me in mind of him strongly at times."

"Oh? In what ways?"

She brought her other paw up and laced her fingers together, folding her legs up underneath the thick fabric of her skirt. "He was one of the most genuine furs I've ever known. He didn't play little games with your head. If he told you something, he meant it. He didn't deal in half-truths, and he took a dim view of those who did." She looked away for a long moment, and then spoke again. "He believed in God, too. Some of his buddies at the plant would get together and pray before work every day. He never missed it." She rested her head on her arm, staring off into the drizzle.

Karl waited for a bit to see if she had more to tell him. It pleased him that she felt like talking again, even this little bit.

"I find what you just said rather flattering."

She raised her head, catching his eye. "Flattering? No. Just truthful. Knowing what I know of your mind, your level of intelligence, any attempt at outright flattery would be pretty stupid."

"I realize that. Thus, my comment. You're just saying what you feel, yes?"

". . . . . Yeah. That's about right."

He nodded. "Good. Honesty with yourself is necessary if you want to be honest with anyone else."

"I believe you said that before at least once."

"It makes a pretty good motto."

"By the same token, though, I think I understand why you never told me anything about your status with the ISB, or the things they did to you. Until recently, I mean. That's another similarity between you and Dad."

"How so?"

"He must have been pretty sure he had an aneurysm, but he didn't tell us anything about it. The company doctor suspected, and had strongly recommended some tests, but they weren't covered by his insurance, and Dad was trying to save up the money for them. We figured later that he must have wanted to spare us the worry."

"Why didn't he just ask Julian for it? He'd have been more than happy to pay for it."

"In a word, pride. I think he was a little too self-sufficient for his own good. Also, he probably thought he had more time. Most furs do, when you come right down to it."

"People are like that. Mortality isn't something most of us like to dwell on, even most Christians. Maintaining an eternal perspective is a chore, with all of the things clamoring for our attention in this society."

"Are you trying to be philosophical?"

"Heavens, no! Deliver me therefrom."

"Good. I don't feel like philosophizing right now." She reached across with her right paw, and took his. Then she scooted a little closer and laid his paw in her lap, stroking the fur from his forearm to his knuckles.

He watched her for a few seconds, and then said, "That feels wonderful."

"It's supposed to. Just lean back and relax."

"I'm always relaxed."

"Liar."

He gave it a shot, sitting quietly for most of a minute, but finally asked, "What _are_ you doing?"

"I'm stroking your fur."

"Obviously. To what end?"

"Are you always this suspicious?"

"Yes."

She chuckled. "More than likely a good thing, too. Nevertheless, please just be quiet."

He decided to bide his time and see where she was headed with this.

She began to extend the length of her stroke, and after a few minutes she had his whole arm involved. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. It had been many years since he'd had a massage of any stripe, and this light, grazing technique was more than a little soporific.

She got up and moved around behind him. He turned his head, following her with his eyes, but she gave him a severe look and said, "This is my party. You will kindly refrain from moving."

"Very well. But I must warn you not to breach propriety, young lady."

"Hush." She began working on the tops of his shoulders. "And, again, please be still."

"Why are you doing this?"

"If you could manage to curb that insatiable curiosity for just the briefest, most minuscule span of time, I'll get around to your question. Now either relax and be still, or you can eat by yourself for a week."

"Yes, ma'am." He became a statue.

She hooked her fingers and dragged the claws lightly against the nap of his fur, slowly pulling up his neck to his ears, then smoothed it back down very gently.

. . . . Again. . . .

He shivered just the least bit.

. . . . Again. . . .

His fur stood on end down the whole length of his back.

. . . . Again. . . .

He made an involuntary churring noise, and his eyes popped open. She used the palm of one paw to close them, and returned to stroking his neck and shoulders. She repeated the drawing-out of the stroke as she had done with his arm, only this time working down his chest. His breathing sped up slightly each time she made that slow, upward pull.

With every stroke she leaned far forward, her head positioned for a brief moment next to his, and her scent was all around him, her breath teasing the fur of his cheek. By the minute, coherent thought was becoming more trouble than it was worth.

This light scratching against the fur of his chest woke any number of sleeping memories. No woman had touched him so in such a long time. Not since Phoebe had . . . .

He sat forward, pulling away from her, regaining his senses with an effort.

She reprimanded him. "And just what, Sir, do you think you're doing?"

"I . . . I might ask you the same question."

She leaned over and rested her crossed arms on the back of the glider, giving him a most disarming gaze. "I'm being honest with myself."

"How's that?"

"You heard me. Now come back here and let me do my work."

"Not until you tell me what this is all about."

"Very well. If you insist." She came around to the front and plopped herself down on his lap. "Honesty is a good basis for a relationship, don't you agree?"

"Yyyyyes. That's … a pretty basic principle." Her soft weight across his thighs warmed him in more ways than one.

She put one paw up against the side of his muzzle, caressed down its length. "I said you reminded me of my Dad in a lot of ways."

"Indeed."

"I loved my father. I loved him very much."

Behind his eyes a tocsin rang. "So I gathered."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. About life, my life, what I've done, what I've been through, what's happened to me, and what I've just _let_ happen to me."

"I thought, perhaps . . ."

She put a paw against his lips to shush him. "You wanted to know what this is all about. I'll let you know when I'm finished. Then _you_ talk." She returned her paw to the back of his head, stroking again. "You said something earlier that sums up a lot of the things I've been pondering. You said, 'Mortality isn't something we like to dwell on.' Or words to that effect. And it's true. I'm going to die one of these days. Maybe in twenty years, maybe in fifty. Hell, maybe tomorrow. Who knows, right? Just because my annual checkups have been clear doesn't mean I won't drop dead of an aneurysm, too. They're sneaky little bastards. But the point is, whether or not I get several more decades, I'm going to start living as if this is my last year. Life is too bloody short to be living an untruth." She paused for emphasis, that steady gaze welding him to his seat, her eyes speaking volumes. "Don't you think?"

His heart tightened almost painfully in his chest. ". . . . My turn to talk?"

She nodded.

"Do … do I understand you correctly when I infer that you have decided to be completely honest with me about your … about the way you feel?"

"Yes. What else do you infer?"

"That you have … developed certain emotional attachments, and you want to make it plain what they are."

"You're pretty quick on the uptake."

He drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "And what would be the nature of these …"

She stopped his question with a kiss. A long one, and deep, and slow, and open. His response, though purely instinctive, was enthusiastic.

It was not a demanding sort of kiss. On the contrary, it carried more of promise than lust, though there was certainly some of that as well. It was the sort of kiss a loving wife would give her husband when he remembered their twelfth anniversary with a thoughtful gift. The sort of kiss that let him know she thought the world of him, and that he should anticipate a very special sort of gift from her later. It unmanned him completely. When it ended, she breathed a contented sigh and laid her head against his shoulder.

"Was that a sufficient answer?"

Karl's thoughts whirled out of control. He'd had little idea that his love for this vixen was mirrored in her own heart. While it had been one-sided, he could control himself, not let himself go, not rip the internal restraints. He knew they were spiritually incompatible, and felt that they had zero chance for lasting happiness, not while they lived on opposite sides of the question of commitment to God.

At least … that's what he'd been telling himself.

_All right, genius, now what?_

He discovered that his arms had found their own way around her, and he held her close, feeling the softness of her fur, the steady rhythm of her pulse, breathing the light, heady musk of her scent. Her presence nearly overpowered his senses.

_Why are You doing this to me, God?_

"W-Wendy?"

"Mmmm-hm?"

"I . . . I don't . . ."

She sat up and met his eyes. "You don't what?"

"I don't think this is going to work."

She stared at him silently for a few seconds, then slid off his lap and stood before him, arms akimbo. "What do you mean?"

"I don't believe a, um, a permanent relationship is going to work, not as long as . . ."

"Hold, it, Buster." She leaned forward, the force of her aura pushing him back against the seat. "I just want you to clarify one thing for me."

". . . . . . . . Okay."

"Have you ever told me a direct lie?"

"Huh?"

"Have you ever lied to me? I don't mean creatively, by not telling me the whole story, as you did with the ISB mess. I mean, have you ever told me anything, presented something to me as fact, when it was not so?"

"No."

"Do you plan to start any time soon?"

"No."

"I thought not."

"And this has what to do with …"

"Do you love me?"

"… _Excuse me?_"

"I'd think a simple four-syllable interrogative would be well within your cognitive capacity."

"… Ah … That would be correct."

"Then answer me."

"How do you define 'love'?"

"Do _**not**_ start with me. You know exactly what I mean. Do you love me?"

He hadn't squirmed this badly since before joining the ISB. "What difference does it make? If we can't build a permanent . . ."

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it. Just give me a straight answer. I asked you a simple question. All I need is a 'yes' or a 'no'."

"Can I …"

"Yes or no. Now, please."

He slumped in defeat. ". . . . . . . . . Yes." It was barely a whisper.

Smiling, she reached out and stroked the side of his head. "Well." She seemed very pleased with herself. "That didn't even kill you or nothin'." Plopping herself back down on the glider next to him, she re-appropriated his paw, this time turning it over to examine the palm. "I've been sure of that for a while, now, you know. Males are pretty transparent when you come down to it. But I did want you to go ahead and admit it to yourself. Was it really that hard?"

"You have no idea."

"Then tell me."

"You won't like it now any more than you did before."

"Try me." She grinned broadly. "And you can take that any way you like."

He groaned. "That is _exactly_ what I'm talking about! We have _entirely_ different worldviews."

"But this _isn't_ the same as before. It's okay now."

"How so?"

"Before, I mainly wanted you for sex. That was selfish of me, and put a burden on you. But, see, I finally realized that I love you. _Really_ love you. For real. For life."

He stared at her hard, trying to wrap his brain around the situation. "How … how do you know?"

"I've been thinking about it every day for a month and a half, that's how. You would have figured it out on your own if you'd been paying attention."

His muzzle opened to say something but she reached over and snapped it shut. "And I _have_ thought about it. About what makes you the fur you are, and how different you are from everyone else I've ever been with. I mean, come on! Look at yourself!"

He cocked an eyebrow but didn't otherwise respond.

"Do I have to spell it _out?_ I don't think any woman who got to know you could _avoid_ falling in love with you! You're gorgeous. You're brilliant. You treat me like a queen or something. You're ridiculously competent at anything you try. You'll actually _talk_ to me, and I don't mean sports statistics. _You_ might not think that's a big thing, but let me tell you, it's pretty damn rare." She snuggled in close, curling her left arm all the way around his right one and leaning her head against it. "So. I love you. And you love me. And that's a good thing."

"You glossed over one rather important point."

"What's that?"

"We don't think alike."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said, not two minutes ago. You have one lens for viewing the world. I have another. In a lot of ways, we could look at the same situation and see two entirely different things."

"So? Vive la difference!"

"It's not that kind of difference."

"Doesn't matter. The way I see it, if we love each other, the rest is details."

"Details are what kill relationships."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"No. Now _I'm_ being honest with _myself_. If you want to be more than friends . . ."

She interrupted. "We're _already_ more than friends."

"To borrow one of your statements, you know exactly what I mean. If you want a permanent, physical relationship, it has to be on my terms. I won't turn my back on God, but you seem determined to stay as far away from Him as you can."

She looked at the floor. "…That's just a detail."

"It is _not_! That's what I mean by different worldviews. Look …" He thought hard, casting about for a clear explanation. "Think about it this way. Any time you make a decision, you have certain parameters, certain references that you use to judge the rightness and sagacity of your choice. You depend on your references to keep you from making a mistake. So do I, but mine diverge radically from yours. This situation is a perfect example of the differences in our thought patterns. You want to forge ahead into a long-term relationship without counting the cost, without thinking through the difficulties and conflicts that are absolutely _destined_ to occur. And I promise you this: as long as you stay in rebellion against God, we could never be happy as a couple. It simply won't work."

Her muzzle twisted in distaste. "That's a cop-out if I ever heard one."

He sighed. "No," he said gently, "it isn't. But that attitude demonstrates my position as apodictic."

"What? How can you think that? If you love me, and I love you, we can work through anything else that comes along!"

"So, in your view, love conquers all?"

"Well, yeah, that's pretty basic."

"I disagree."

She threw up her paws and got out of the glider to begin pacing up and down the porch. "I knew you could be stubborn, but I've never known you to be downright illogical before!"

"If anything, I'm being pragmatic. I have no desire to enter a doomed relationship."

"How could my opinions on _God_ have any bearing on the way you feel about _me_? I just don't _get_ it!"

"And I feel like I've been standing on the beach telling the tide not to come in. Look, my first commitment is to God. All others are secondary, including my commitment to a mate, should I ever be so blessed. You, however, would want my first commitment to be to you, would you not?"

His declaration left her totally perplexed. She said nothing for a few moments, then came back with, "What woman would want to be in a relationship where she came in second to an abstract concept?"

"Abstract concept! Now that's rich! How can you be _angry_ at an abstract concept?"

She frowned, having no ready reply, and turned her back on him, staring at the rain. The wind was beginning to pick up a little, and a stray wisp of precipitation slipped in past the roof to wet the hem of her skirt.

"It might help if you think of it as a matter of priorities."

Her head lifted fractionally. "Priorities?"

"Yes. It's a matter of getting one's priorities straight. C. S. Lewis put it this way: '_When I have learnt to love God better than my earthly dearest, I shall love my earthly dearest better than I do now. In so far as I learn to love my earthly dearest at the expense of God and instead of God, I shall be moving towards the state in which I shall not love my earthly dearest at all. When first things are put first, second things are not suppressed but increased._' That made wonderful sense to me."

Wendy had one response to that concept, and she gave it to him. "Bullshit."

"Hardly. It's a much more basic position than is 'love conquers all'. More basic, more durable, and more sensible."

"Sounds like crap to me."

"And, to answer your other question, a _Christian_ woman would want to be in such a relationship, because that kind of common commitment, mirroring her own, is the perfect basis for lasting happiness." He paused again. She said nothing. "Wendy, I didn't write the rules of the game. It's the way we're wired. That's just the way things are."

She rounded on him. "Well, get this, Bub. _Things_ can change." The determination etching every line of her visage unsettled his mind even further. And she strode off down the porch, nearly running, into the house, into her room, and . . . .

Karl winced when the door slammed. He sank back into the glider. "Ohhh, this is not going to be any fun. Uh-uh. No, sir. None at all."

##


	16. Chapter 4 Tensions Part G

_**Chapter Four – Tensions – Part G**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

**There is but one truly serious philosophical problem,  
** **and that is suicide.  
** _**-Albert Camus**_

##

_** Thursday 04 May 2017, 3:21pm **_

"Mr. Luscus?"

He knocked the crap out of his elbow scrambling out from under the powersled, and practically jumped to attention.

She stood there in the doorway, limned by the mid-afternoon light, her green wool sweater over one shoulder, a small pack hanging from her opposite paw.

"Yes, Wendy?"

"I put a casserole together for your supper. It should be ready in about an hour." She turned and walked out of his field of view.

He made it to the door in two long steps and swung out after her. Those few words were the first she'd directed his way in two days, and the first civil ones in nearly three.

Tuesday morning had been one long, protracted harangue and had left both of them emotionally exhausted. Wendy had fled to her room in tears. He hadn't so much as caught a glimpse of her on Wednesday. She apparently had not left her room. This day, so far, he had encountered her once, right after breakfast. He tried a hesitant greeting. She snubbed him dead.

Her nose was taking her down the long slope to the north, toward the lake. He caught up with her in three strides. She stopped and faced him. "What?"

"Uhhhh . . . ." His wits deserted him.

_Forgive me! _

_Try to understand my situation. _

_Let me explain my actions. _

_I want to try to understand yours. _

_Please don't leave. _

_I want to satisfy all your dreams. _

He wanted to go with her, to walk paw-in-paw, to lie in the grass on the side of the hill and count clouds, to discuss the great works of literature, to revisit and share with her the far-off lands he'd seen, to explore every nuance of their complex and potentially fulfilling relationship.

But what he said was, "Uhhhh . . . ."

"Mr. Luscus, please go back to the house."

"Um … where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"May I join you?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Wendy, look, I'm really …"

"It's Ms. Wylde."

His heart pushed several adjacent organs out of the way as it fell toward his feet. "Um … Ms. … Ms. Wylde, I'm really …"

She held up a paw, her unsmiling countenance forestalling further conversation. "Please go back to the house."

"But …"

"Please."

He drew a long, slow breath, the pain shining in his eyes, turned silently and made his way back up the hill. The lone vixen resumed her course toward the lake.

##

At the edge of the forest a large, feral red fox lay in the tall grass, watching the exchange, his amber eyes unblinking. As Wendy neared the lake, he got up and began to pick his way leisurely through the long grass in her general direction.

_##_

_Gone._

She stared down into the water. The steady breeze raised a few ripples farther out, but here by the bank, it was yet very calm.

_It's all gone. _

_Guess it's just the way things turn out for me. _

_The house, the business, the money, my relationships. _

_Too depressed to cry. _

_Too tired of fighting to care._

_No, that's not right._

_I do care. _

_Maybe too much._

_Males are scum._

_Karl won't have me._

_Hell, Jenna won't have me, either._

_Or Ellen._

_But let's not flip __that__ rock over._

_Females are scum, too._

_Hell with the whole world, then._

_Shot my wad._

_Gave it one last try. _

_One more jump shot before the buzzer._

_Didn't work._

_Bounced off the rim._

_Because, folks, this is MY life we're talkin' about here._

_Wouldn't wanna break with tradition._

_Plug and chug, good ol' Wendy, always in there scrappin'._

_Like a freakin' damn idiot._

She sat on the long shelf of stone that jutted from the bank on the eastern end of the lake, her legs dangling off the edge, toes hovering maybe half a meter above the dark surface.

_What's the point?_

_Never gonna work anyway._

She leaned over, idly seeing if she could catch a glimpse of a fish, but despite its being partially spring-fed, the lake seemed murkier than usual. She swung around and repositioned herself, lying supine with her head off the edge.

_If I rolled off this rock right now, who would know?_

_More to the point, who would give a rip?_

She scooted around and lay right along the edge, her skirt trailing off so that its tip hung within a paw-span of the gelid water. Slowly, she moved her right arm out, letting it hang down as well.

_[ [ do you go to the long sleep, daughter? ] ]_

She sighed and rolled over toward the fox. "What do you care if I do?"

_[ [ i am curious ] ]_

"Yeah, I'll just bet." She sat up and regarded the feral. His unshakable calm stood starkly at odds with her present mood. "You don't have the faintest idea of what I'm going through, do you?"

_[ [ no ] ]_

"Hmph. Honesty from somebody at least."

_[ [ i do not understand ] ]_

"Skip it." She rolled over onto her back, staring at the scudding, gray clouds. "It doesn't matter."

She held up one paw, spreading her fingers wide, looking through them at the sky. "Nothing matters."

_[ [ you begin to see clearly, daughter ] ]_

Closing her eyes, she dropped her paw to her forehead. "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

_[ [ if nothing matters, then all outcomes have equal value ] ]_

"Oh, please! You sound like that philosophy student I dated in college."

_[ [ i know nothing of what you describe ] ]_

She sat up again and looked him in the eye. "Why do you come around and bug me? What's in it for you?"

_[ [ understanding ] ]_

"Well understand this: I don't have to put up with it." She stood and gathered her sweater. "Between you and that fool wolverine up the hill, I get no peace at all." Passing within a meter of him, she picked up her pack, and then moved on around to the north side of the lake.

The fox watched her. After a minute, he rose to his feet and followed.

##

Karl stood on the back porch, watching her. He had seen the fox, but was too far away to catch anything of the conversation, even with Augmented hearing. He still didn't know what to think about Wendy's connection with the ferals. He had never met a feral wolverine, so he had no frame of reference.

She walked on around to the north, toward the lake's main outlet. He saw the fox follow. They both eventually were lost to sight behind a small copse that grew down to the edge of the water.

Karl gripped the porch railing tight enough to dent the light steel tubing, his mind, his heart, his being a sickening welter of conflict.

_What am I doing? I can't let her go. I can't __**imagine**__ letting her go._

Some things he'd talked over with Mac kept surfacing in his thoughts.

**"If Wendy comes to an understanding with God,**  
**it will have to be on her own terms. Don't think**  
**you're going to argue her around to your position."**

She's the one femme with whom I know beyond  
doubt I could grow old happily. You want me to  
watch as she finds someone else to love?  
To pretend I'm okay with that?

**"She will have to realize that she's missing out on**  
**something, something you have and can share with her.**  
**And that is not going to happen overnight."**

_I'm __**not**__ trying to force her to think the same way I do! _But he wasn't entirely sure that was the truth. He had such difficulty thinking straight where she was concerned that he wasn't a fair judge of such things._ I just have to find some way to communicate._

_You think she'll give you another chance?_

_She has to! She must! I __**can't**__ leave it like this._

_You might not have a choice._

_No! There has to be a way!_

_Maybe the way is **her** way?_

… _What are you saying?_

_Maybe she has a point. She's ready for a permanent relationship. She insisted, even. That means she isn't going anywhere. That gives you a great deal of time to …_

_No!_

_I'm just sayin'._

_I can't … can't give in._

_Would it really be giving in? If your ultimate goal is to …_

_What part of 'unequally yoked' did you miss?_

_Are you sure that's what it means in this case?_

_Of … course …_

_Are you **dead** sure?_

_. . . . . . . _

_Are you willing to bet her happiness – and the next fifty or sixty years of your life – on that assumption?_

No answer to that question existed … at least, no answer that he was willing to examine. He stood for quite a while, staring at the spot where she'd passed from view. But the chime on the oven began ringing, so he went into the house to get something to eat.

Not, you understand, that he had any appetite.

##

The stream that led out of the lake headed generally northwest. Wendy followed it for almost a kilometer, walking slowly, thinking, trying to backtrack so she could figure out where she'd gone wrong. Whether, as once queried that lagomorph of legend, she should have made that left turn at Albuquerque. Discover who got the signposts switched.

She came to the narrows, where the smaller river fed the larger one, dog-legging to the northeast, and the footbridge crossed. The watercourse spanned less than eight meters at that point, but ran _much_ faster than it had upstream. Just a few meters downstream, the rapids began.

Shifting her pack farther up on her shoulder, she stepped onto the flattened log. It lay across the water at right angles to the flow, secured at each end by a small pile of rocks. Neither she nor Karl knew who had put it there, or how long ago. Its surfaces were thickly covered with dark green moss, and bracket fungi sprouted along its whole length. The soft, tightly-packed green growth was a luxury to walk on, a delight to her pads. She stopped in the middle of the makeshift bridge and flexed her toes in the moss for a moment.

The ground at the far end of the bridge rose sharply from the bank, and was covered with low brambles. She'd had to negotiate them before, and knew they could hide some nasty, thorny surprises, so extreme caution was indicated until she made it back to the grassy area. She was about to step over the rocks at the end when a blue grouse exploded from the underbrush right in front of her.

Recoiling, she stepped backward on the log, then wind-milled her arms when her right foot slipped off. She fell, but grabbed the log with her left paw, and a rock sticking from the bank with her right. For a moment she dangled from the log, her feet getting wet from the spray, and hung on for all she was worth. But the recent rain had softened the bank, and the rock came loose to fall into the cold, swift current. She tried to gain a purchase on the log, digging her claws into the thick moss, but it, too, failed her, peeling up off the wood in a neat layer.

The bitter shock of the frigid water was so severe she couldn't even scream.

. . .

. . .

. . .

**Here Ends Chapter Four**


	17. Chapter 5 Resolution Part A

_**Chapter Five – Resolution – Part A**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

**He who pays no attention to what his neighbor does, says or thinks,  
****preferring to concentrate on making his own actions appropriate and justifiable,  
****better uses his time.**

**-Marcus Aurelius**

##

_** Friday 17 March 2017 – 2:00pm **_

Capra dropped a thin report on Rajid's desk, and dropped his rear into one of the leather chairs in front of it. "We got a problem, Boss."

Glancing up from his workstation, the lithe mongoose noted the disgust evident on his agent's face. "And what would that problem be, Capra?"

The canine slid the document a few centimeters closer to Rajid. "Da details is in dere."

"Would you care to give me the condensed version?"

"Whut it looks like is one o' da secondary Augments gone rogue."

The older fur sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Is this about that wolf again?"

"Raj, we can't jist pertend like dis ain't happenin'! Dat nutcase killed twenny-t'ree furs we know about, an' more'n likely anudduh pawful dey ain't found. He's been shot up six or eight times an' he always …"

"And we still have no evidence whatsoever that the creature has any affiliation with the ISB." He held up a paw to stop Capra's objection. "The FIA has declared this case to be their exclusive territory. I have done a bit of background work on the agents involved, and I feel confident in their abilities." He gave his subordinate a level look. "I am more than willing to leave them alone to carry on their investigation. We are stretched much too thinly as it is."

As there wasn't much Capra could say to that, he sighed and said, "I hope yaz right, Raj."

"I have no doubt that they have people on the case who are just as capable as we are."

"Fine. If dat's da way it is, I'll jist hafta live wid it." He changed the subject. "We got anudduh hit offa dat last bunch o' TFN dirtbags."

"Oh?" This was more in the way of capturing Rajid's interest. "The ones we picked up in that Philadelphia raid?"

"Yup. Y'know, da cell structure o' da organization is 'sposed ta keep 'em all insulated. But since dere ain't no honor among t'ieves, as da sayin' goes, dat don't work too perfect all da time."

"Yes, that is a weakness we have exploited before."

"Well, we're exploitin' it again. Wayne's still writin' up da report, but we got us some good leads on a cell out in Missouri. Got t'ree names an' one address."

"Ah! Excellent. I will inform Gabriel to expect Wayne's report."

Capra rose and headed for the door. Rajid asked, "Is there anything else I should know about?"

The shaggy canine stopped with his paw on the doorknob and thought that over. "Just wonderin' …"

"Yes?"

"Would it kink yer tail if I was ta keep up wit' what da FIA uncovers about da wolf?"

The mongoose's muzzle quirked a little. "If it will help you sleep nights."

"T'anks, Raj." And he left.

##

##

##

_** Monday 27 March 2017 – 3:55pm **_

Quinn looked up from his news when the bell on the door jingled. Recognizing Tom Fellian, he carefully folded the paper and dropped it on the half-barrel in front of his rocker. When the old cat had ambled over, Quinn asked, "What did ya find oot?"

"Nary a damned thing. Closed-mouthed bunch, they are."

"And they're still workin' on tha place?"

"Busy as beavers. Done patched up tha holes in that theah coppah roof."

"An' they got all tha glass back in over tha weekend, too, 'cordin' ta Rafe."

"Ayah, that they did. Likewise swapped out that dumpstah they was usin'."

They continued comparing notes for a few minutes, reaching the conclusion that the old mansion must be nearly refurbished by now.

Quinn rocked thoughtfully for a bit and opined, "Still sayin' 'at'd be Karl's doin'. Be just like 'im."

"Ayah. Don't doubt it. On t'other paw, I'd …"

The door jingled again, admitting Alan Grey. "Hello, gentlefurs. Sorry I'm late."

"Don't got ta stand on much ceremony 'round heah, Parson. Tom an' Quinn 'll do."

"Sorry, Quinn." He pulled up a chair and leaned toward the two oldsters. "Some of my digging paid off."

"That so?" Tom's eyebrows rose. "Whichahow?"

"Well, see, Sandee's cousin Doralee works for FurNet, and she owed us a favor. She pulled a couple of strings and managed to get a little bit of information on what went down at Ash Creek."

"Do tell?"

"From what she was able to glean, the ones that attacked were all associated with some international crime cartel. My guess, given that information, is that they had a history with Karl."

"Ayah. Makes sense," agreed Quinn. "Tha Vulpin place be off tha beaten track, that's sure. If they wanted ta do 'im in private-like, they could pick lots worse places."

"Doralee's source said that they recovered eight bodies, all male, none of them a wolverine. So it looks like Karl and Ms. Wylde got away somehow."

Quinn wheezed a chuckle. "I told 'em. Ayah, I told 'em Karl wouldn' cotton ta no rough stuff. Told 'em they'd get theyselves killed."

"They should have listened to you."

Tom observed, "So it weren't Miz Wendy they were after?"

"Not primarily, although I'm sure they would have killed her, too."

"Ayah. An' if they had, Karl wouldn't have left so sudden-like."

"What makes you say that, Quinn?"

"He lit out like thataway 'cause he was after protectin' his lady, is what I say."

"Okay," Alan nodded. "I'll go along with that."

Tom added, "An if'n Miz Wendy had got killed, Karl wouldn't be botherin' about getting tha place fixed up. Mark my words, they'll be back."

"Yes, but when?"

"When he figures it ta be safe. Not before." Tom grinned. "Could be a good long while, if he decides ta fix it so's tha crooks can't be a bother to 'em anymore."

Alan's expression soured. "I'd hope it wouldn't come to that."

"Aye, Tom's right, Parson. Karl's tha most easy-goin' feller I met in a while … unless somefur he cares about is in trouble. Then it's Katie-bar-tha-door."

"I wish I could disagree with you. But I fear you are correct."

"Don't be a-feared, Parson. Karl knows what he's aboot. 'sides, ain't there a passage in tha Good Book about some folks as was nothin' but wicked, an' created for destruction?"

"Well, yes. But the context indicates that the ruling powers are to administer punishment in those cases."

"Heh. Try tellin' that ta Karl."

"Um … no thanks."

##

##

##

_** Satur__day 01 April 2017 – 4:00pm **_

Michelle Moreno whipped her cruiser into the motel parking lot, straddling two spaces at an angle. She jumped out of the car before the engine noise died and ran toward the office.

"Agent Moreno?"

Michelle turned and looked at the officer, a tall and rather imposing otter, who had stepped forward as she passed. "Yes?"

"Captain Todd sent me to get you."

"Great. I've gotta see this thing." She followed him around the motel's north side. When they reached Room 112 he held the door open for her. She stopped at the threshold and surveyed the wreckage, holding a paw over her nose in a vain attempt to battle the stench.

_Holy crap. What'd he do, collect their blood in buckets? This is the worst one yet._

Cap and Amos were talking with Lieutenant Poulin, their liaison with the Sûreté du Québec. The trio stood on one of the few blood-spatter-free areas in the room. Cap noticed her and walked over, picking his way carefully.

"Damn, Cap!"

"Yeah, I know. He's escalating."

"Where is it?"

"In the bathroom." Motioning with his head toward the rear of the room, he added, "Watch your step."

Amos eased carefully toward the exit, saying as he passed them, "I need to get a few things from my car." When he got to the door he examined his footpads before trotting off.

Michelle's eyes darted around in disbelief. "So this … _used_ to be four furs?"

"Four college wrestlers. All heavyweight."

Michelle made her way gingerly through the carnage. "Cap?"

"Yeah?"

"I see gore all over, but no bones."

Favoring her with a grim look, he replied, "He, uh … he removed them."

"Come again?"

"They're in the tub. Most of 'em."

Clenching her fists and her teeth, she groaned, "Oh, _God!_"

They reached the door to the bath and Michelle peered in. For a motel, the room was spacious, and the bath more-so: twin sinks along the left wall with a mirror that ran its full length, a toilet to the right, and a large tub in the corner opposite. It was mounded with a gruesome collection of broken, gnawed, gore-soaked bones. Michelle put a paw to her mouth, eyes squeezed shut. "Son. Of. A. Bitch."

Taking a couple of deep breaths, she focused on the mirror.

Cap said, "We haven't touched it yet. The forensics guys are on the way. Should be here in twenty or thirty."

"This has _**got**_ to be a coincidence!"

"I hope so."

The Lieutenant had stepped up behind them, "I do not believe in coincidence, Agent Moreno," he said in his crisp and flawless English. "You are the only one we know of who has fought paw-to-paw with this creature and lived."

They all stared at the mirror. Michelle walked over and stood directly in front of it.

They always examined the various _arcana_ left behind in some of the earlier crime scenes. The as-yet-unnamed wolf seemed fond of 'magic circles' and runic gibberish … if it truly _**was**_ gibberish. But they'd never encountered anything like this.

Lined up along the front edge of the counter were six pieces of bone of varying sizes. Inscribed in blood on the mirror was a large triangle, its base parallel to and just above the sinks, and its apex within a few centimeters of the ceiling. There was a complex rune or figure of some sort in each corner. In that, and fitted to it nicely, was a nearly-perfect circle. Inside that was a smaller triangle, point-down. And in that was:

**M I C H E L L E**

"How'd he do it?" she shouted. "How did that bastard get my name? My _name_, damn it!"

"I wish I knew, 'Chelle. But I can tell you my back crawled right over the top of my head when I saw that."

"What do you think _my_ hackles are doing?"

"He must," stated the Lieutenant, "have overheard someone calling your name."

Michelle was muttering dire imprecations under her breath. "Sorry bastard … Get 'im if it's the last act … Get 'im in my sights, it'll be the _last_ thing he ever … That sack o' shit better run … " She leaned in and looked closely at the lettering, and then frowned. "Hey, Cap. There's little squiggles in the letters."

"Squiggles?"

"Yeah. Looks like more of those symbol things we've seen before, only really tiny." She reached up and touched the edge of the letter 'M'."

A violent, though soundless, explosion threw her into the far wall, where she stayed, pinned like an insect. Her two companions were blown back out the door and landed on each other in a heap, but they scrambled back up.

"Michelle!" Cap ran back into the bath and over to his agent. Eyes wide and fixed, her muzzle hung open. A silent and unfelt wind savagely rippled her fur in every direction. Her limbs were splayed flat against the wall, and Cap quickly discovered that they were as immobile as so much concrete. "Michelle! Can you hear me?"

Slowly and more slowly, her head moved around to face him. Her mouth opened wider and a voice issued … a voice that slithered across his neck, leaving a cold slime of revulsion in its wake, a voice that spoke to every deeply repressed horror he'd ever imagined, a voice that willed him to scream and run and run and run.

**YOU HAVE VEXED ME TOO LONG**

Lieutenant Poulin was beside him, both of them trying to free her from the invisible bonds. Behind them, the bloody pattern on the mirror was glowing, and thin streamers of smoke began issuing from the letters of her name.

**I KNOW YOU KNOW**

Though her lips never moved, her face bulged as if engorged. A thick, tarry fluid began leaking from the corners of her eyes. More of it dribbled from her ears and open muzzle. The surface of the mirror darkened, bubbled, started to sag.

**FLEE OR PERISH**

With a teeth-jarring crack, the center of the mirror fell into a thousand shards on the counter. There was a moment of vertigo, as if an unimaginably vast chasm opened beneath them, and then Michelle crumpled to the floor. Her head lolled to the side, eyes open but unseeing, her face going flaccid as the dark matter flowed sluggishly out. The remainder of the vile rune that had formed the trap wisped into a fetid vapor and vanished.

Frantically Cap felt for a pulse. "Get the paramedics in here! Go! Go!"

The Lieutenant sprang to his feet and ran out, calling for help. Cap started CPR, gagging again and again from the numbing stench that came from the black ichor on her face.

_Please don't die! Please! Please don't die!_

##

##

##

**The word, even the most contradictory word, preserves contact.  
****It is silence which isolates.**

**- **_**Thomas Mann**_

##

_** Thursday 04 May 2017, 4:20pm **_

Karl's agitation had increased almost geometrically for the last hour. He tried to work on the powersled, but simply could _not_ concentrate. He tried praying: for strength, for help, for guidance, for _some_ kind of relief, but his thoughts kept jumbling there, too. He couldn't make any sense of anything.

His command of language was unequalled by any living fur, but even so he found himself unable to define his feelings. Part of him needed to hold her, to kiss her, to be with her, more than he needed air. The longing would cause him real, physical pain sometimes. Another part was just as frightened of what lay down the road if he did.

This emotional dichotomy was quite a new and frustrating experience, one for which he found himself wholly unprepared.

He had to talk to her. Had to get her to listen. Make her understand. Given his hyper-logical tendencies, the natural reaction to a situation like this, a "broken" relationship, was to want to "fix" it. He'd been fixing things all his life. But this was completely different from any other problem he'd ever faced.

He knew one thing, though: he had to have closure, one way or another.

He stepped off the porch, started walking toward the lake, but the walk soon became a fast lope.

##

Wendy had lost the feeling in her legs. Her arms wrapped around one of the large rocks jutting up from the streambed, she hung on because she didn't know what else to do, and couldn't think anyway. She'd never imagined anything this cold in her life.

She could just barely see the footbridge around the rock. In actual distance her trip had been rather short, but the ride had not been pleasant. And downstream it looked even worse. If she let go, she would either drown, or be smacked unconscious by the rocks and _then_ drown.

_[ [ why are you in the water, daughter? ] ]_

She craned her head around to the eastern bank. The feral fox sat there, watching her, his head cocked to one side, those damnable calm eyes unblinking.

"He-he-he-help m-m-m-m-me." Her teeth chattered fiercely.

_[ [ you will soon enter the long sleep ] ]_

"He-help. Ge-ge-ge-get K-K-K-K-Karl."

He turned his head and looked back upstream, then got up and trotted away in that direction.

##

Wendy's spoor was very faint. The wind and the damp played merry hob with his scent-tracking, and even with Augmentation he lost it a few times. But she seemed to be pretty much following the stream, so he did, too.

He was half-a-klick past where the copse started, where he'd first lost sight of her. The ground was fairly smooth, the buffalo grass maybe thirty or forty centimeters high. It waved constantly in the light wind.

Jogging along beside the water, he pulled up short when he spotted the fox. It stood some fifteen meters farther along, and was sitting there, watching him. As soon as it met his eyes, it gave a short, yipping bark, hopped away a few paces and stopped again, to look at him over its shoulder.

_That's Wendy's fox!_

He ran toward the animal, and it took off as if shot from a bow. Karl increased his speed to match the fox's, and shortly they came to the footbridge, then to the rapids. The feral stopped at the bank and looked into the stream, but Karl, following his gaze, could see nothing there.

Then he spied something that bobbed to the surface briefly farther downstream, and his hackles jumped erect. He tore off toward the object, hitting almost fifty klicks by the time he leapt from the bank.

The fox sat, watching.

Unmoving.

Calm.

##


	18. Chapter 5 Resolution Part B

_**Chapter Five – Resolution – Part B**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

_** 6:15pm **_

Gently, oh, so gently, he lifted her head from the pillow, positioning the cup at her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, and he smiled at her. "Here, try this. It's chicken soup."

She lapped a little of it and swallowed, rested a moment and took a bit more, then closed her eyes and licked her lips and nose. A very slight shake of her head indicated she wanted no more just then.

He eased her back down and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her as she drifted back off to sleep, and thanking God he had gotten there in time. She'd had neither pulse nor respiration when he pulled her from the icy torrent, and was deep in hypothermia. After getting her heart and lungs going again, he'd carried her back to the house at a sprint, and plunked her into the big tub as soon as they arrived, filling it with heated water to try to raise her internal temperature.

Now, an hour later, though her fur was still a bit damp, she was warmly cocooned and tucked into bed. He put out a hesitant paw and smoothed the headfur away from her eyes.

_Closure would be nice, but I'll take what I can get. Just as long as she's safe._

She shifted, drew a deep breath and let it out, and turned her head on the pillow. He bent over and lightly kissed her upturned cheek. Her muzzle curled into a slight smile, and she breathed a low sigh.

_We'll take it slowly. I'll leave whatever may follow in God's care._

He went back to the kitchen, heated up what was left of the casserole, and polished it off.

##

_** 9:30pm **_

"Karl?"

The questing call was very low, but he heard it nonetheless and was at her side in seconds.

"Yes, Wendy?"

"C-could I have … something to drink … please?"

He reached behind him and picked up a juice box, letting her take the straw in her mouth. She took two long pulls on it and let go, flopping back onto the pillow with a noticeable shiver.

"Are you still cold?"

"Y-yes. I didn't th-think anything could be that c-cold. Don't know … if I'll ever feel … warm again."

Karl got up and said, "I'll be right back." When he returned he was carrying four of the large towels they'd brought. "I warmed these up. Let's get you packed." He arranged them around her, covering her head and limbs. "Is that better?"

"Mm." Her eyes were closed again.

"Would you like anything else?"

"… Sleep."

"Okay. If you need me, just call."

##

That call came a lot sooner than he thought it might. He scooted the chair a bit closer to the bed and sat, elbows on knees as he studied her face.

"Feeling any better?"

"Maybe. I'm not freezing any more. Sore, though. Those rocks hurt."

"I'll bet. Can you move your legs?"

She squirmed a bit under the covers, wincing in pain, and said, "I think so. Hard to tell when I'm … uhnh … wrapped up … uhff … like a mummy. Would you mind?" And she nodded at the various blankets and towels.

"Oh, sure! Here." He unwrapped most of her covers and pulled the heavy flannel out flat so she could move.

"Thanks. That's better." While flexing her legs and feeling of the bruises on her torso, she became aware that she was completely unclothed. She glanced up at him with a sardonic smile and said, "Well. It seems you have me at a disadvantage. And here I thought _I_ was the one trying to make some time with _you_."

"What do you mean?"

"You undressed me." She clasped her paws together under her chin and put on the most ingenuous, transparent, little-girl expression she could muster. "Please, oh, please, Mr. Fierce Pirate Captain, sir! Spare my innocence!"

His muzzle made a few abortive attempts at speech, but nothing coherent came out.

She giggled at him. He huffed and shook his head.

Moving an arm out from under the blanket, she beckoned him closer. "C'mere."

He hesitated, and then leaned over. She reached up and laid a paw on his neck, pulling him down farther, and kissing the end of his nose.

"That's for coming to my rescue."

He smiled, not without some relief. "You're welcome."

A pensive look settled onto her face as she pulled her arm back into the warmth of the covers. "So. Why'd you do it?"

"What? Why did I pull you out?"

"Why did you come after me in the first place?"

He blinked at her for a moment. ". . . . I wanted to talk."

"About what?"

"About us."

"Us, as in the 'us' that you've been denying existed for the past few days? That 'us'?"

"… Yeah. That 'us'."

She stared at him for a few seconds and gave a small shrug. "So talk. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay." Deep breath. "Wendy, I …" He glanced at her face and asked, "Is it all right if I call you Wendy?"

Her dimples showed briefly. "Yeah. Sure. Knock y'self out."

"Wendy, I value our relationship too much to want to do _**anything**_ to endanger it. You were right and I was wrong … about a lot of things. I started to realize that after you … you left." Another long breath. "You can't imagine how much I wanted to run after you, to explain myself … even though at the time I don't think my explanation would have been very lucid." He reached over and smoothed her headfur back, then gently dragged his claws through it.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "So … I guess I should feel … vindicated?"

"At the very least. I am deeply, _deeply_ sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted anything like that to happen … not in any respect. Never." He shuddered and clenched a fist on the pillow. "And I almost … you nearly … you came so close to … and it's my fault. All my fault. Nearly lost you. I'm so sorry."

"I think I might believe you."

He sniffed and scrubbed at his face. "And I will do whatever it takes to prove it to you. Wendy … I have a _lot_ to work through. Where we are right now? Ridiculous as it sounds, I never expected things to work out this way. I'd sort of … resigned myself to having a … that is, to sharing my life with you only in my dreams, and being content with nothing more than your friendship in the real world."

"That would kinda suck, I'd think."

"It was kinda killing me, is what it was. Everything you've ever read about unrequited love is absolutely true. It was death on a shingle."

Her voice low and measured, she answered, "But it isn't unrequited."

"I … I know that now, but it was … very difficult … realigning my thinking. I'd been in … I don't know what you'd call it. Martyr mode? Sacrificing myself on the altar of legalism?"

"Well, hey," she said, suddenly irritated, "_you're_ the one who brought me out here, a zillion miles from _**everything**_ else, where we'd be around each other most of every day … and you expected _nothing_ to _happen_?"

"Yes. It was stupid to arrange things that way and then be surprised at the outcome."

"And you don't usually do stupid."

"Not usually. But I _am_ stupid where you are concerned."

She gave him a shy smile. "I think I like that. Makes me sort of unique."

"Wendy … my dear Wendy … you have no concept of how unique you really are."

Her expression sobered. "Do you understand now, and accept, that I love you?"

"Yes. Do you understand that I love you back?"

"I believe I do. If you didn't, I believe I'd be dead right now."

"I would really, _really_ rather not contemplate that scenario, if it's all right with you. Because I think I'd be dead as well."

She reached up and touched the side of his face tenderly. "And that would be such a terrible shame."

He clasped her paw with his. "When you declared your … told me you … you loved me, I … I guess I panicked. I took refuge in all the things I'd been telling myself for … well, for months."

"Months?" Her expression somewhat incredulous, she continued, "Months, you say? How long have you …?"

"Since shortly after we met."

"Well, damn."

"Yeah."

"We've known each other now, what, close to a year?"

"Nine months, twenty-nine days, and …" He glanced at the clock on the night stand. "… nine hours and fifty-one minutes."

She grunted in amusement. "Showoff."

"It was important to me."

"I'm very glad."

"Wendy, I appreciate your being totally honest with me, and I promise to return that honor … and I need to start by being honest with myself. I'd like to explore this relationship fully, and have every intention of doing so. But before we can go any further with it, we need to understand, and I mean _really_ understand, some things about each other. About how each of us thinks. About our beliefs, and what we can do to achieve common ground. There are good surprises, and then there are bad ones. I don't like bad surprises, and I bet you don't either."

After several seconds of sober reflection she said, "Common ground is good. I can live with that."

"Thank you. I don't think you realize yet what that means to me."

"I plan to find out."

Giving her a relieved smile, he leaned over the bed and kissed her gently. When he sat back, she said, "That's the first time you've kissed me since the hayride."

"What? No, we've kissed several times!"

"Uh-uh. _I_ kissed _you_ all those times. That was the first time _you_ kissed _me_."

"Oh." Turning his glance upward, he ran through the last several months. "You know, you're right. How did you …?"

"It was important to me."

Muzzle curling into a grin, he said, "Touché."

She turned onto her side, facing him. "You know, when I was stuck on that rock, hanging on, trying not to slip off, the thought occurred to me that I could just let go, and all my problems would be solved. Or at least I wouldn't be worrying about them anymore."

"Trust me: that would _not_ solve your problems. Or mine, for that matter."

She let slip an anemic smile. "Yeah, I can see that now." She patted the pillow next to her and said, "Put your head here. You're too far away, and besides, you're sideways."

He complied, and she scooted over to give him some room, wincing again.

"But I didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Let go."

"Ah."

"Yeah. I got so cold I couldn't keep my grip on that rock any more and the water finally pulled me off. But I hung on, really for a lot longer than I thought I could. I decided there at the end that I simply wasn't ready to die." Her eyes were maybe twenty centimeters from his, and full of gratitude. "And you loved me and came after me and saved my life." She snuggled up close to him, nothing between them but the flannel, and put her arm around his chest. As far as it would go, anyway. "No matter what else happens between us, I know that much. I know you love me."

"Definitely," he replied with a grin.

She worked her face down into the long fur of his neck, holding on firmly. As soon as she became still, he put his arm around her waist. It felt more than good, far beyond right, to hold her thus. Some minutes later he could tell by her even breathing that she had drifted off again. Not wanting to wake her, he stayed put, and eventually succumbed to sleep himself.

##

In the heavy dark of deep night, she awoke, panting.

_Hot! Why is it so hot?_

She gazed around the room for a moment, bewildered, then focused on the face of the wolverine sleeping beside her, and her dreams came back with a rush.

Intense dreams.

Intensely _erotic_ dreams.

She moved closer to him, worked a paw into the fur of his chest, then moved the other around and down to the lower spine, right above his tail, pulling herself hard against him.

She was in need … desperate, throbbing need of release.

_What is going on?_

From the logic centers of her mind, as if from a distance, she watched herself, studied herself, and suddenly realized what her problem was.

She was in heat. Boy, was she ever.

Betrayed by her own body.

_Why now, of all times? When I have none of the drugs with me?_

Since her hysterectomy, her seasons had become unpredictable. Once every two or three years she would have to deal with it, have to use the drugs that suppressed the restless desires, the need to mate. Before, she had always had plenty of warning, strong indications of the onset. But not this time. And it had never, in her memory, been this powerful, never been such a trembling, aching void.

Perhaps the shock of what she'd gone through earlier in the day had triggered it.

She would likely never know.

All these thoughts skirted the ragged edges of her consciousness, but only just barely. Her season was in total control of her actions. She could observe the eagerness with which she explored Karl's body, realize that it was something she shouldn't be doing. But there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Her last semi-coherent thought, before being pulled headlong into the maelstrom of instinct, was,_ He's not gonna like this!_

But she plunged ahead anyway. She had no choice.

_Hell with it. I'll __make__ him like it._

He jarred awake to the feel of her tongue on his face, in a bewildering welter of pheromone-induced lust. Looking up into her eyes, reading the near-feral emotion in them and caught up in it himself, he abandoned restraint. Willing paws reached to grip her tremblingly eager flesh. Her long headfur lay all around them, her raw, wild, randy scent clouding his mind completely, compelling his reaction, pulling him in a sudden, sweet rush toward that which had dominated his dreams for so long.

The covers, unheeded, slumped off the side of the bed.

##


	19. Chapter 5 Resolution Part C

_**Chapter Five – Resolution – Part C**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Friday 05 May 2017, 9:18am **_

A muddled haze of dream gradually transformed into a limited self-awareness as Wendy fought to shrug off sleep. Her eyes felt gluey and didn't want to open. She reached up to rub them, but just that slight repositioning of her head sent her wheeling into a steep vertigo that left her more than somewhat nauseous. She lay very still and waited for it to pass.

_Oohhhhhh. _

_Yuck._

She tried, and failed, to sit up, her head flopping back onto the pillow, which action led to another bout of intense dizziness. The bed pitched and rolled wildly for a minute or so, then the motion gradually slowed and transferred to the room itself, settling to a steady spin.

_What brought that on?_ Going into heat had never done that to her before. In fact, she hadn't felt such a sensation since her bouts of morning sickness the last time she got pregnant. And they were hardly worth mentioning compared with this.

Come to think of it, she had never before had a _season_ of such overwhelming intensity. Her superego might as well have been on holiday.

After lying there gathering her strength for a while, she next attempted rolling over onto one side, and had somewhat more success, making it all the way to the edge of the bed. A tingly, prickling warmth began in her extremities, as if all her limbs had fallen asleep. Almost completely enervated, her arms and legs were just barely under her control. She struggled briefly, trying to sit erect, and gave it up after a couple of minutes, opting instead to slide out the side and onto the floor so she could scoot and crawl to the bathroom, where she suffered through several rounds of dry heaves. Her head felt stuffed full of wool. She couldn't think, much less think straight.

_What is happening to me?_

Bits and pieces of last night's activities filtered through, and she would have smiled at the memories had she not felt quite so crummy. It was almost like the fever-weakness that came with a bad case of influenza, except she didn't have a … no, hang on. Actually, she _did_ feel kind of feverish. Chilled anyway. She lay there on the floor beside the toilet for a good long time, and slowly, oh-so slowly, recovered full function of her arms and legs. When she felt able to stand, she got up and very carefully moved into the shower, wincing repeatedly as she tried to find a comfortable angle to hold her head. A crew of kobolds had set up camp just inside her left ear, where they started an enthusiastic excavation of her skull. Her bruised side hurt where she had bashed into the rock.

She turned on the shower.

The warm water cascaded over her as a Godsend. She simply stood and allowed it to drench her thoroughly for several minutes before reaching for her bottle of herbal shampoo. She squirted a generous blob into her headfur and began gingerly massaging it in.

Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. . . . . . . . . .

_That's_ what she needed! The ache eased off as she worked the lather in. It helped clear her head, it got her blood going again, and even her nausea had disappeared by the time she'd used up all the hot water forty minutes later.

The bedroom was yet heavy with the lingering scent of their passion. Since she wanted to be able to think clearly, she sat in the front room to dry and dress. She took her time toweling her fur dry, and absently fluffed her tail for quite a while as she thought about her episode. Maybe . . . maybe she was coming down with a sinus infection? No, that always gave her post-nasal drip, and that annoying little symptom seemed to be missing entirely. Allergies? She had never really been subject to much in the way of allergic reactions, but perhaps something here was blooming that she had never before encountered, and . . . . Nah, it didn't feel like that. She frowned, her pretty mouth twisting. Very, _very_ strange.

Ah, well. She certainly had no complaints now. Mulling over the way she had felt upon first awakening, she eventually shrugged and passed it off as the aftereffects of being in heat, and her lovemaking with Karl.

She wouldn't know until much later just how right she was.

Dried off and dressed, she chose a thick, cream-colored turtle-neck and ankle-length green wool skirt. Thinking again about the night before brought a warm flush to her cheeks. It had far surpassed her expectations. He was exceptional in a number of ways, not the least being stamina. _But then I guess I shouldn't be surprised by that, given his constitution. He just never wears out._ Parts of her still whispered, excited, sated and yet wanting more. She clutched her paws to her chest and his protestations to the contrary, his performance had been most fervently wholehearted._ God! That was better than anything!_

She knew that Karl, ever the morning furson, had likely been up since dawn, and figured he would be outside, probably puttering around the powersled again. She snagged a crumpet and a zip-pack of sardines from the pantry and headed for the front door. The first tingly threads of returning heat-compulsion were beginning to tug at her again.

Smiling to herself, she considered her options for the day. Last night was just a taste. She had lots more things she wanted to try with her great big plushie, now that he was properly loosened up. _Lots_ more.

She wandered outside, humming quietly to herself, her mood jubilant.

##

_** 11:52am **_

She finally spotted the big wolverine sitting on a boulder at the edge of the lake, and hurried down to him. Dressed as usual in nothing but his shorts, he had his back to the house and his gaze fixed on something across the water. She slowed when she got close, and changed her gait to a suggestive saunter as she came around to the front of the rock.

"Hey, there, lover," she began in greeting. But she stopped, and then stepped back in shock as he raised his head.

That was _not_ the face of a guy who had just had his bones jumped.

The first word that came to Wendy's mind when she met his gaze was 'tortured'. The bloodshot eyes, the matted fur on his cheeks, the slumped shoulders, and his general demeanor of hopelessness, she found inexplicable.

She took a couple of tentative steps toward him and extended her paw. "Honey?" He said nothing. "Karl? What's . . . . . . what's wrong?"

He flinched as she touched his arm. Drawing a ragged breath, he bowed his head again.

"Karl? Is something wrong? Please tell me what's wrong!"

"I'm an idiot."

"Uh … well, okay, in certain areas I'll give you no argument. But why … I mean, you don't … look so good."

He slid down off the rock and faced her. "I owe you an apology. Another one, that is. A couple more, really."

"Wha … you want to _apologize_ for last night? But you don't …"

"I'll get to that."

"Oh. Uh, what, then?"

"For months I've cast you subconsciously in the role of the siren. The Succubus. The Temptress."

"Succubus? Kinda … strong, don't you think?"

"Yes. Too strong. It was part of the defense my subconscious put up."

"Defense? Against what?"

"Against falling for you."

"Falling? … But … last evening you said … you said you've _been_ in love for months!" Her voice didn't quite break. "Didn't you?"

"Oh, Lord! I'm sorry! Yes. I did. Was. I am. In love with you." He scrubbed the heels of his paws against his eyes and murmured, "I'm not making any sense."

"You can say that again." She put her paws on her hips. "So why apologize?"

"Because none of this was your fault."

"… Ooooooookay. I think we sorta settled that a while back."

"Yes. Empirically. Logically. But not emotionally. Not viscerally."

Her nonplussed expression matched her statement. "I'm not following you."

"That's understandable. I'm _inside_ this head and _I_ don't understand it." He reached over and took one of her paws. "You see, when I learned how you really felt about the church and about God, it created a … tension. I loved you. But my understanding of God's Word told me I could never be with you."

"That's so _stupid_!" She jerked her paw away and backed up a step. "What kind of a god would keep two people apart if they loved each other! That's crazy! No, I take that back. It's just plain _wrong_! And you want to _follow_ a god like that?"

"Do you remember what I told you yesterday about being in martyr mode?"

"… Uh … yeah, kinda."

"I was … I guess you'd say I was … paying attention to certain … passages … at the expense of the context. I'd convinced myself that we would never be together, never be a couple. But I knew, in the same way that I know a rock will hit the ground if I drop it, that I was completely and hopelessly and everlastingly in love with you."

Her eyes widened at that statement, and a tiny tremor touched her mouth. One of her paws pressed her throat as she listened intently.

"I hunted Mac down and took him to task about that very fact." He gave a wry chuckle. "He was … nice about it; but I kinda got my ears pinned back for me. Anyway, I realized, though I never voiced it to myself, that the chances of my 'moving on' and 'finding someone new' were effectively zero. I was stuck. I couldn't stay away from you. But I could never get any closer to you than I was."

"… Oh. … Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

She moved toward him, pressed against him, eyes shimmering and earnest, a reassuring paw on his chest. "I'm so sorry!"

"Now don't _you_ say that. Don't say anything _like_ that. None of this is your fault."

"I don't have to fling blame around to bolster sympathy. What you put yourself through is awful! How could you stand it?"

"I likely wouldn't have been able to in the long run. It was killing me. But I was blaming you."

"Whuh … wha … excuse me?"

"Not out loud, of course. This was all subconscious. I didn't '_know'_ that any of it was going on."

Her quirked eyebrow posed him a question.

"Look, I _said_ it didn't make any sense. I'm just now figuring all this out."

Giving her head a slight shake, she leaned into him. They held that tableau for a couple of breaths, and then she said, "Hold me."

"What?"

"Hold me." She slid a paw into the small of his back. "Put your arms around me."

He did, hesitantly.

"You can hold on better than that. I won't break."

"You might."

"I didn't last night."

"Umm …"

"I trust you. You're one of the good guys, Karl. I trust you never to hurt me."

"That's a heck of a responsibility, Wendy."

"Doesn't matter. I think you're up to the challenge." She squeezed him and sighed. "Now isn't this better?"

"… Infinitely."

"Good. … So is your brain firing on all cylinders again?"

"Hardly. Being … near you … this way … puts my thought process into a holding pattern."

"It didn't seem to bother you last night."

"That's another thing I need to apologize for."

"Not on my account you don't." She breathed a laugh and followed it up with, "I lost count of the number of times you got me off."

"Yeah, well. You are quite the inspiration. But I … we skipped a few steps." He leaned back to get her full attention. "What we did … isn't something that can be taken back."

"I don't _want_ to take it back."

He drew two long breaths and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Neither do I. In a way I still wish we hadn't, but … neither do I."

"Good." She stroked his back, going silent for a bit. After a few moments, she offered, "I'm sorry it bothers you."

"Do you understand why it does?"

"Probably not to the extent that you'd like me to. Do you want to explain?"

"What I _wanted_ was for you to know what you were getting into."

"What, you mean living with a Christian?"

"In a nutshell."

She cocked her head and gave him a crooked smile. "Well, guess what?"

"… What?"

"It doesn't make any difference."

"How so?"

"Okay … you said, um, a few days ago that . . . . . . . See, I said that I thought that if we loved each other we could work through the other stuff. And you said I was wrong."

"Yes. I did. And while 'wrong' might be a bit much, given the circumstances, I still think it could cause problems."

"That's true. It might. But it doesn't matter."

"You sound awfully sure of yourself."

"I am. Listen, Karl, _every_ couple has problems. _Every_ couple has disagreements, and sometimes real fights. _Every_ couple will have moments when one of them will disappoint the other. But you know what? The _successful_ ones work through it. The ones who are committed to making it last might fuss and cuss and fight … but then they kiss and make up and get over it and move on. And they become the stronger for it. They learn what _not_ to do, and how to fight fair. They learn respect for the other partner's opinions and views and strengths, and they learn how to compensate for the other partner's weaknesses. Maybe you don't have any weaknesses to compensate for …"

He threw back his head and laughed hard at that. "Have you been paying any attention this morning _at all_?"

"I'm just making a point. So, okay, you're a mortal like the rest of us. That means that if you _are_ part of a couple, that couple will not be perfect. Same goes for me."

"I think I see where you're going with this."

She poked him with a finger. "Is it making sense?"

"It's starting to."

"Good. Now my point – and I do have one – is that whether you gave me the whole scoop first or last, it wouldn't make any difference in my decision to stay with you. I love you … and I'm not leaving. _That's_ what is important to me."

"You can't begin to imagine how good it feels to hear you say that."

"I think, maybe, that I might." She pointed to the west, where a lowering thunderhead was building up. "Can we go back to the house? I'd rather not be caught in that."

"Okay." With a supple motion (and a short _yip_ from her) he picked her up and parked her in the crook of his left arm. "I could do with a spot of lunch anyway. I missed elevenses."

"That's what you get for running off and sulking." She snuggled in and made herself comfortable, her forehead parked in the hollow of his throat.

He strode along for several paces and asked, "So, does what you said mean that you _want_ the whole scoop?"

"It does. You aren't the only one who's had his eyes shut tight against uncomfortable truths."

"How so?"

"Do you know why I love you?"

"You gave me a short list the other day. But I doubt I'll get tired of hearing it."

"Eh. Specifics aren't the point here. The overall picture is."

"How does that relate?"

"You're a Christian. Admittedly, when I think of the term, you are definitely not what first springs to mind."

"Our congregation is a little unusual, I'll give you that."

"But you _are_ a Christian. And if I can fall in love with you, then I guess being a Christian doesn't have to be the completely awful thing I thought it was. So, yeah, I'd like to hear what you have to say. Not that it'll change my opinion of God."

"And I'd like to hear how you came to have that opinion in the first place."

"Yeah, well. You first. I'll have to work up to it."

"Fair enough."

They went a few more steps before she asked, "You know what I haven't had yet today?"

"What?"

"A kiss."

"Oh, I can remedy that." And they practiced the remedy the rest of the way back to the house.

##

Lunch was a simple affair of sandwiches, pickles, and iced tea. At her suggestion they took it out to the porch where they could watch the approach of the storm. But it passed around to the south, drenching the tall conifers instead.

Karl noticed that her appetite was off. "Are you planning to finish that sandwich?"

"Hmm? Oh. No. Go for it."

He did, complementing it with the rest of her pickles. After he'd cleared the plates away he joined her on the glider where she'd curled up at one end. She had an odd look on her face, and he said so. "You feeling okay?"

"I … maybe … just a little 'off', I guess. Not bad, exactly. Just kinda … weird."

"Weird? I don't think I like weird. Where do you feel weird?"

"… All over."

He sat up and peered at her closely. "You look a little tired."

"Hah. And last night would have nothing to do with that, I suppose?"

Muzzle fluffing somewhat, he said, "Um … maybe you just need a nap, then."

"Eh. Maybe." The feeling that was running through her really was impossible for her to describe. It was … an unease? An itch in the center of her bones? A subtle fire just under the skin? She'd been having the odd flash of heat compulsion all morning, but this didn't feel like that. The effects of her season made her pleasantly flushed and caused her mind to stray. But this … was fundamentally different. She felt increasingly restless, kept glancing around as if to see what it was she was supposed to be doing. Finally she took the big wolverine's paw and pulled him up off the glider. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"That way."

"Oh. Okay."

So they did. She headed north, down the long, gentle slope to the lake, soldiering along purposefully, maintaining a brittle silence and gazing all around. The unknown force that urged her on was getting stronger. Tiny worms of distress screwed and ground and gnashed up and down her bones. The fire behind her eyes would not be denied. Her pace gradually increased until she was almost sprinting.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

_Well, wherever it is, we'll make good time._ He kept this thought to himself and watched her closely.

She finally wound down on the far side of the birches, maybe four klicks from the house, where she paused to catch her breath on a wildflower-covered knoll. Her heartbeat sounded much too loud in his ears, frightening him with its intensity, as Karl bent to examine her face.

She pulled back and spun away from him, the jittery overtones in her motions betraying a lack of motor control.

"Wendy, do you feel … all right?"

"Why shouldn't I?" she snapped.

"You seem a little … unsettled."

She was swaying on her feet, her knees obviously wobbling. The effect grew stronger as he watched. "Honey? What's wrong? What are you feeling?"

Her shout, as she turned back to him, stung him with its force. "How can you _say_ that? Didn't last night mean _anything_ to you?"

"What … what are you talking about?" He was now genuinely worried. The vixen's shuddering vibrations were more pronounced by the second. He also saw with alarm that her pupils had dilated.

A visitation of her earlier dizziness was coming back. She reached out and clutched his arm to steady herself. "I told you already, I love you! Can't you hear me?" A sob shook her. "Listen to me! Why don't … don't you … believe me?" She lurched to the side, nearly fell. "Oh, God! Just _listen_ to me!" The long, grassy sweep of meadow seemed to be experimenting with how it would look as sky. She sat down abruptly. Karl went down on his knees beside her.

"Wendy? Wendy, tell me what's wrong!"

She swatted him across the muzzle, hard, and screamed, "What's the _matter_ with you? How can you _say_ that?" And then her eyes glazed as she pitched backward to the ground, the earth and heavens reeling, his voice reaching her more as the sound of rushing water than of speech. She flopped over sideways and violently lost her lunch … and what looked like most of breakfast.

"_WENDY!"_

##

_** 5__:20pm **_

_Wet. _

Something wet, all over.

_Stop it. Push it away._

She sent the message to her arm,  
trundling  
along the hidden neural paths,  
just as she had done so many hundreds of thousands of times before,  
But.  
The limb.  
Remained.  
Obdurately.  
Still.  
She forced her eyes open and shut them again  
to  
block  
the light.  
The brief flash of her surroundings made no sense.

_Wet. Again._

Drizzling across her eyelids. Cooling, but evaporating quickly.

_Hot._

Why is it so hot? The room . . . no, the room is cold, so cold.

_Hot. Wendy._

What's that noise?

"Wendy? Can you hear me?"

_Make the noise go away._

The heat, the wet, the noise faded back into oblivion.

##

Karl's frustration and worry could hardly be contained.

He picked up the washcloth and cooled her face with it again. Where the raging fever had come from was a complete mystery, but he knew it would have to be contained. He took the IR probe and placed it in her ear: 38.7ºC. Still fairly high, but hardly dangerous. It _had_ been a full two degrees above that.

But the aspect of the fever that bothered him even more was that it _moved around_. He'd Augmented his vision to monitor her, and to his surprise he could see various parts of her body heat up and then cool back down. He'd never heard of a fever that did that, and the implications were driving him nuts. So he'd been doing what he could to keep her brain from overheating.

The fever seemed to have localized in her legs over the last few minutes. If the pattern held he would have some ten or fifteen minutes before it subsided and sprang up elsewhere. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of orange juice, tossing it off in two swallows, then did it again. He replaced the half-empty container, thought better of it, and drank the rest of the juice. Going back to the bedroom and scooting the chair in closer, he rested his elbows on his knees and contemplated the still form of the lovely vixen on the bed, brushing her sweat-damp headfur back with one paw.

_Please be well. Now that we've come at last to something of an understanding, please, please be well. I love you, Wendy. You have to know that you are loved._

##

**Here Ends Chapter Five**


	20. Chapter 6 Made Fast Part A

**_Chapter Six – Made Fast – Part A_**

**_. . ._**

**_. . ._**

**_. . ._**

**When you are dining with a demon, you got to have a long spoon.**

**-**_**Navjot Singh Sidhu**_

##

_** Friday 07 April 2017 – 9:30am **_

The elevator door hadn't even opened half-way before Capra was pushing through. Calling, "Come on!" over his shoulder, he trotted heavily down the long hospital corridor. Rajid followed at the same pace, but his naturally graceful stride didn't look as hurried as his agent's lumbering gait. Speaking quietly to the fur walking at his right, he offered, "My apologies for Mr. Capra's abrupt manner. This case means a great deal to him."

His companion, a short, thin feline femme of middle age with a large knapsack over her left shoulder, turned an eye his way. "I understand," she responded. Her accent was slight, but Rajid suspected her family to have originated somewhere in Eastern Europe. "I see this many times in my line of work." Using the ornate ebony walking stick in her right paw, she pointed at Capra's back. "Given the _unusual_ circumstances, his reaction could be seen as normal."

"Still, it is hardly call for rudeness, Ms. Smith."

Choosing not to reply, she maintained a watchful silence until they got to the door of Michelle Moreno's hospital room. Rajid held it open for her, but she hesitated.

"Is there a problem?"

Shivering slightly, she shrugged her collar up around her neck. "This is a bad one."

From within the room, Rajid could hear Capra talking with Agent Moreno's superior. He looked back at Ms. Smith. "You can sense it from this far away?"

"I could _sense_ it from the lobby downstairs. But I was hoping it wouldn't be so … so terribly _thick_ … up close."

"Can you deal with it in close proximity?"

"Give me a moment." She moved back to a low bench against the wall opposite Michelle's room and set her pack on it. Rummaging through the pack for a few moments, she came up with a group of odd items. "Mr. Rajid, would you mind lending me a paw?"

"Of course. What do you … oh." He took the lump of chalk she offered him.

"When I say to do so, please outline the doorframe with that, and connect the line across the threshold. Make the mark in one smooth, uninterrupted motion."

"Very well." He watched as she set up a small tripod on the floor directly in front of the door. Hanging a tiny copper pot from the central hook, she sat next to it and then placed an old, smallish leather bag on her lap. "Make ready, Mr. Rajid."

He knelt and positioned the chalk at the lower left corner of the doorframe.

Closing her eyes and slowing her breathing, Ms. Smith placed her left paw lightly on the leather bag and whispered rapidly under her breath. Rajid caught a sudden whiff of … something growing. It was as if a window had opened onto a venerable grove of evergreens, allowing the bracing, resinous air to spill in. Ms. Smith reached into the bag and withdrew a clutch of fresh pine needles. She moved her left paw to cover the copper pot and made a complex symbol over it, which caused the pot to glow with a soft, yellow radiance. When she dropped the pine needles into it, dark blue smoke began puffing over the sides. Looking at Rajid, she said, "Do it now."

Quickly he marked the doorframe. As soon as he made the connection to his starting point, the smoke was drawn toward it, flowing into the chalk outline and disappearing. Slowly, the white mark turned a light spring green. Ms. Smith stood and took a deep breath, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her.

"That's better." Unlimbering her cane, which Rajid noticed was chased with intricate lines of silver down its length, she used it to repeat the symbol she'd drawn earlier, only this time in front of the doorway where it hung very briefly, a faint, smoky outline that spread and vanished. With a slow, measured stride, holding the cane crosswise in front, she entered the room.

Captain Todd and Capra stood on the far side of the bed, talking animatedly. The bed itself was gently rocking from side to side, turning about thirty degrees each way once a minute. Rajid had seen one before: they were used in cases where the patient was fighting pneumonia, as an attempt to keep the fluid from building up in the lungs. Michelle's head was encased in an unusual device that pumped air in through her nose, and drained the contents of her mouth into a reservoir that hung from a roll-around beside the bed. Rajid, struggling to keep his gorge down, had cause to wish that the reservoir hadn't been transparent. A nurse bustled in at that point with an empty bag, and quickly swapped it for the full one.

Ms. Smith stopped her as she was leaving and asked, "How often do you have to change that?"

"About every three hours."

"… She produces _that_ much?"

"All day, every day. We've never seen an infection like this before. We haven't been able to isolate an active and it's got the doctors stumped. There's a group of specialists on the way for a conference about her. Should be here around five."

"What are you doing with that?"

The nurse held up the container with a grimace. "It's biohazardous waste."

"So what happens to it?"

"It gets incinerated."

"Good." She inclined her head to the nurse. "Thank you."

They turned back to Michelle as the bed was tipping toward them, and noted the streak of black ichor running down the tube from her mouth. Rajid heard Ms. Smith murmur, "You poor girl."

Captain Todd walked around the bed and took Ms. Smith's paw. "Capra here tells me he thinks you can help her."

"I will do what I can."

"You got to, ma'am, you just got to!"

"Were you present during the attack?"

"Yes! What do you need to know?"

"I need for you to describe the trap as thoroughly as you can." She glanced back at Rajid and added, "It is a pity that no one got any photographs."

"They would have, if Miss Moreno had not arrived so soon," he answered. "She activated the trap before the rest of the team had a chance to investigate."

"Yeah," Cap agreed. "That's right. But you want to know what it looked like?"

She nodded. "With as much detail as you can give me."

He spent the next fifteen minutes doing just that. "But I never noticed the tiny symbols that Michelle did. The thing blew up when she touched it."

"Yes. Sympathetic magic. There is great power in a name, if the owner identifies with it strongly, and the wizard knows his thaumaturgy." She turned to the bed and regarded the femme that lay there. "Obviously he did."

"But you can help her, right?"

"We shall see." She retrieved her knapsack and instructed the rest of them to leave the room. "But block the door open. I don't want to be trapped in here in case my efforts … prove ineffective."

She spent several minutes setting up her totems at strategic points around the bed, and then passed her cane over Michelle three different times. Each time the air would shimmer, and the small stone carvings would glow softly. Five times she reached into the leather bag and withdrew something that hadn't been there before: a red yarrow flower, a live butterfly, a tiny pot of honey, a cattail that was several times as long as the bag, and sprig of rowan in bloom. These she joined one by one with the totems, each union consuming the item and resulting in a steady glow from the carving. Finally she placed a small knife on the floor under the bed. Then she stood at its foot, raised the cane, and began singing in a low voice.

As soon as the first few syllables were spoken, a dark cloud formed around Michelle's head. Over the next seconds it spread until it covered her chest, and then began to edge outward, pulled toward the totems, whose radiance increased apace. Swirls of vile mist spiraled into the glowing points, and the vapor attenuated greatly. Ms. Smith drew a symbol in the air and stepped up the cadence of her song … but a slight tremor shook the bed. There was a shower of sparks from the nearby monitor equipment, the light died in each of the totems, and the muddy haze gathered itself into a tight ball and sank back into Michelle's breast.

The knife under the bed exploded.

Ms. Smith cried out in pain and fell to the floor. In the doorway, Cap felt something zip past his face to bury itself in the corridor wall. The federal agents all hustled into the room, blinking their eyes and trying not to gag at the ferocious stench that had sprung into being.

Rajid knelt beside the fallen femme, asked, "Were you hit?"

"My leg. Damn, that burns."

The mongoose examined the wound, seeing that it was a through-and-through, and more than that, it seemed to be cauterized. "Can you stand?"

"Believe it. I need to get out of here."

Rajid helped her up and supported her as they left the room, calling to Capra, "Would you please get her pack?"

"Sure t'ing." He snagged the knapsack, surprised at its weight, and trotted after them.

When Rajid made to help her sit on the bench in the hall, she vehemently shook her head and said, "Downstairs. Now. Got to get away before it marks me."

He all but carried her to the elevator, and helped her out to the parking lot. Once outside, she paused to draw two more symbols in the air, one behind them and one before. Then she sank to one of the stone seats that stood along the breezeway.

"Are you going to be well?"

"Oh, I am well enough now. Do not worry for me." She jerked her head back in the direction of the hospital. "Worry for her."

"Your attempt to free her was not successful."

"Not in any respect. Mr. Rajid, this is beyond my skill to treat. My magic is shamanic in nature. It is bound to life, and the natural world." She glanced over at the hospital and gave a small shudder. "Nothing living did this. Not in the sense we use the word. This is pure evil, of a type I have only heard about but never before, thankfully, encountered. All I can tell you is that it is ancient and ravenous and foreign to anything in my experience."

"Then is there nothing more we can do?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you are the most talented mage in our employ. If you cannot help …"

"Then you'll have to look outside the ISB. Fortunately I know some people."

Behind them, the symbol she had drawn in the air again became visible, a wisp of ruddy, angry smoke. She eyed it with a slight tinge of alarm and said, "Still too close. I should keep moving."

"What about your leg?"

"I will worry about my leg when I no longer need worry about my life. Let us be gone from here."

"As you wish, Ms. Smith. Capra, if you would take her other arm?" The two government furs helped her to the waiting car. She scribed another symbol on the door before climbing in.

Once they got her situated in the stretch van, she said, "Please head as close to due east as you can. That will force it to move against the sun and give us a better chance to outrun it."

"With all this caution," observed Rajid, "I can't help but wonder how the rest of the furs back at the hospital might be fairing."

"It should ignore them, preferring to come after the one that attacked it. My hope is that its range is short and its cunning slow. It certainly lacks nothing of power."

Apparently her plan worked. They arrived back at the regional office half an hour later having run afoul of no more occult interference, and Ms. Smith seemed a great deal more relaxed.

##

_** 11__:45pm **_

Many kilometers north of Marten Falls, Ontario, lies a tiny farm. The owner, an old wolf who goes by the name Mahihkan Baxter, makes it his policy to sleep with his cows. The previous winter a feral bear had broken into his barn and scattered them, wounding one badly and causing him many days of grief as he tracked down and rounded up the other six. His old double-barrel shotgun has seen better days, but he keeps it clean and well-oiled in case he has need of it.

He is alone. This is not of his choosing, but bitterness will not change his fate. One by one his children had left him, left the farm, left the Cree reserve to seek more promising futures among the cities. Not one has ever returned. He has no phone; for that matter he has no electricity. His farm is quite remote, and the reserve's limited resources don't extend to running a power line through trackless frozen bogs for his convenience. Four seasons gone he awoke one morning to find his wife had died in her sleep. He buried her between the two huge shagbark hickories that shaded his cabin.

Just before noon this day he had stopped between barn and cabin, and stared in wonder as four sleek, black helicopters raced by overhead. There had been days in the past when he would see airplanes of various types fly over, usually very high up. But the last time he could remember seeing a helicopter had been many years ago in Ogoki Post, before his oldest son had gained any siblings. Today the helicopters flew low and fast, speeding westward. An hour later they came back, this time flying more slowly, sweeping back and forth as if searching for something.

_This_, he thought, _is an omen_. Tonight he sleeps lightly, parked against a stout pole in the center of the barn, the shotgun across his arthritic knees.

The cows are restless, moving about in the stalls. One of them snorts, butts the door, and lows in irritation, bringing him to wakefulness. He sits forward and listens intently.

Something is moving outside. Old he may be, with his sense of smell long gone, and suffering a cataract in one eye, but his hearing is as sharp as ever. Stiffly he gains his feet, and cocks the hammers on his weapon.

The bear – for a bear it must be, he is sure – comes up to the side of the barn. But it doesn't sniff, it doesn't scratch. It only waits. Despite being able to see his own breath, Mahihkan breaks a sweat. He hopes it is not a _big_ bear.

It moves away. Slow, deliberate steps take it around to the building's front. Warily he watches the door, knowing it to be the barn's weak point. He moves his lantern to a better spot, casting no shadows on the door, and aims his shotgun.

Minutes drag by. At length he hears a distant, crunching noise and frowns in confusion. It seems to be coming from the direction of his cabin, and he goes to one of the tiny windows to peer out. He cannot see the small house through the night's gloom, but he does hear the sounds of something that seems to be moving around in there.

This is a dilemma. He should stay with the cows. Neither does he want the bear to destroy his house. But if he goes and confronts the bear, two shells of double-aught buckshot might not soon kill it. It may be a big bear.

He decides to stay. If the bear is only hungry it will soon lose interest. Mahihkan keeps his corn and sugar and cured meats in a locked chest of heavy wood and stout iron bands that he feels will foil the bear. He moves back to his pole and sits against it, listening. The cows are still restless. He will keep his vigil.

##

It is morning. Mahihkan stands in great consternation, looking at the nearly-empty chest, and wondering over and over how the bear could have done it. The chest is not torn apart. There are no claw marks on the wood. Rather, the lid is thrown open. The sturdy padlock that had held it closed, along with the hasp and cleat, is crushed and twisted almost beyond recognition.

Later in the day, this story is of great interest to the furs in the black helicopters. Of more immediate interest to Mahihkan, though, is the fact that they offer to replace what he has lost. They only ask that a small team be allowed to search his property for signs of the very unusual bear. He is happy to do this for them. He hasn't had any real company in a long time.

##

_** Wednes__day 12 April 2017 – 6:15pm **_

The package was waiting for Rajid when he got home … waiting for him on his pillow.

He glanced around his bedroom as smoothly he freed a Sig 220 from its holster, listened intently for any sound that might give away an intruder. Easing over to the bed, he examined the small box that lay there. It wasn't much bigger than his paw, and finished in black lacquer chased with gold, the fine, even lines describing a complex symbol on its lid. A simple swivel catch closed it. He could see a small index card leaning against it.

_If someone wanted me dead, and had been able to get this far undetected_, he reasoned, _I'd already be dead_. He stuck the gun back in its holster and picked up the card. The note, written in heavy pencil, read:

**Put on girl chest**

**NOT ****TO ****TOUCH ****ROCK****!**

**When finish, put back in box**

He flipped it over, but there was nothing on the back. Sitting down on the bed, he took the box and spun the catch open, raised the lid. Inside was a small disk of dark material that he thought might be some kind of leather; it was deeply tooled with a number of odd glyphs. Embedded in the center of the circle was a cabochon of cobalt blue, lightly flecked with silver; probably lapis.

Closing the lid, he set it back on the bed and pulled out his PA. "Capra? Is Captain Todd still with you?"

"Yeah. Been tryin' ta get 'im ta eat somethin'."

"Excellent. Bring him with you and meet me at the hospital."

##

_** 7:00pm **_

The other two were already standing at the nurse's station when Rajid stepped off the elevator. He strode quickly up to them, pointing down the hall. They fell into step behind him.

Nothing had changed in the room. By the level of mottled black ichor in the reservoir, Rajid determined that it had recently been replaced. He set the box on the stainless steel tray attached to the bed and opened the cover.

"What's that thing?" Cap wanted to know.

"A cure for your agent, one would hope."

"You trust it?"

"As I am bereft of reasonable alternatives, I have little _choice_ but to trust it." He used a forceps to pick up the talisman by the leather edge, and gingerly placed it in the center of Michelle's chest.

For close to half a minute nothing happened. Then the blue stone began softly to glow. Slowly the nimbus pulsed, now brighter, now dimmer, in a steady rhythm. Capra soon realized that it matched Michelle's heartbeat, shown clearly on a monitor above her bed. That beat got faster as they watched.

The dark vapor they had witnessed once before manifested again. This time it seemed to rise simultaneously from her whole body, and swirled quickly, almost violently, into the blue stone, which glowed now so brightly they could barely look at it. The oily mist flowing out of her grew denser, seemed to pull at her as it left, and then a huge mass of it appeared, coiling and writhing in the air above her. In seconds the vapor seemed to solidify, to take on form. It coalesced, vibrating into reality, and suddenly to their horror a spindly, spiky, bat-like thing crouched on her chest, hissing at the talisman, its four red eye-sockets staring at them in hate. It raised thin, tentacular arms and a dozen impossibly long obsidian talons sprang from its paws. The observers jerked away in revulsion and fear.

The thing turned and slashed at the talisman, but where it touched the dark leather there was a shower of angry white-hot sparks, and the nightmare's arm suddenly ended at the wrist. With a shriek that sent the three stumbling backward, paws over their ears, it tried to jump from Michelle's chest. But it seemed caught somehow, and crumpled in on itself, mewling and gnashing its smoky fangs.

Now from the talisman there unfurled two glowing arms that reached toward the thing. It tried to back away, gibbering in frustrated malice, but could not separate itself from the body of the one it had possessed. Amid a final, drawn-out cry that left their teeth on edge and their ears ringing, the bright arms lashed out and around the thing, ripped it loose from Michelle's body with a wet sucking sound, and pulled it into the stone. There was an instant of actinic brilliance that left livid purple spots dancing in their field of vision, and then all was silent. Nobody moved for the space of half a dozen heartbeats.

"Is that it?" Cap asked. "Did that do it?"

They moved toward the bed. Rajid noticed that the reservoir bag was empty, the drain tube clear. Michelle moaned and turned her head, gagging. She reached up and yanked out the tube, opened bleary eyes and tried to focus on the three males.

"'Chelle? You in there?"

"… Cap?" Her voice was a weak, ragged shadow of the one he knew.

"Yes! It's me! How do you feel?"

"… water …"

Capra took the pitcher from the side table and poured a small cup for her. She sat up, received it shakily and managed to get most of it down her throat, then flopped back onto the pillow.

Again the FIA agent asked her, insistently, "Are you all right? Do you feel okay?"

She took a deep breath and mumbled, "I get outta here 'm gonna track that bastard down an' rip his guts out an' strangle 'im with 'em.

The grin on Cap's face nearly pushed the hat off his head. "Welcome back, Agent Moreno. You know I'm gonna have to write you up for lying down on the job, don't you?"

"Screw you … y' lazy sumbitch. Do more work … than your whole damn … department … put t'gether." But she raised a trembling paw, which he quickly grasped. Around an anemic grin, she added, "I shoulda ducked."

Rajid used the forceps to pick up the talisman from the floor, where it had fallen when she sat up to drink. He noted with some disquiet that the blue of the stone was now marred by many streaks of inky black. Tiny sparks of light raced around it every few seconds. He placed it back in its box and closed the lid …

##

_. . . . . . . In his study, an old Dalmatian sat on a mat of rushes. His contemplation of the large crystal before him was interrupted by an insistent whistling from a small box on a nearby shelf. Pulling himself out of his scrying, he stood and lifted the box down. Concentrating on it briefly brought a knowing smile to his face. "I was right. It was the same demon. Faye will be pleased." He walked across the room where he placed the box carefully into the center of the merry blaze in his fireplace. It quickly caught and burned brightly . . . . . . ._

##

… and pushed it away from the edge of the table. Because of the irregularity in her heartbeat, the duty nurse came in to check on Michelle. She was dumbfounded to find the girl awake and lucid, and immediately sent for the resident on call. While they were all thus occupied, no one noticed the thin lines of smoke escaping from the box where the lid met the edge. The nurse was the first one who detected the odor of char.

Rajid feared the worst, that the thing was somehow trying to escape, and used a pillow case to grab up the box, which was exceedingly warm. He ran out to the hall, found one elevator standing open, but decided against using it. It would be a deathtrap under the wrong circumstances. He went down the three flights of stairs, taking them three and four at a time, raced across the lobby, and had just made it outside when the pillowcase burst into flames. He dropped it on one of the gravel paths that meandered around through the hospital grounds, and jumped back.

Nothing else happened. There was no apparition, no unusual sounds, no breath-taking stench, no indication whatsoever of anything arcane going on. It simply burned with a fierce, blue flame until there was nothing left, which took considerably less than a minute. Rajid found a stick and poked at the remains of the pillow case, but could find no evidence that the smoldering bits of cloth had ever held either box or talisman. That's where Capra found him.

"Dat Moreno chick says she wants out. She's itchin' ta git back ta huntin' dis t'ing, whatevah it is."

"There are worse ways she could occupy her time." He stood and brushed off his paws. "I should send Ms. Smith an acknowledgement for her service. She was singularly helpful."

"Yeah, you do dat."

##


	21. Chapter 6 Made Fast Part B

**_Chapter Six – Made Fast – Part B_**

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

**I never knew how to worship until I knew how to love.**

**-**_**Henry Ward Beecher**_

##

_** Wednesday 10 May 2017 – 9:10am **_

Karl put the two pieces of dry toast on a plate, snagged a carafe of apple juice, and strode briskly down the hall to Wendy's room, where he set them on her side table. Shaking her shoulder gently, he said, "Hey, lazybones. Don't go back to sleep yet. I've got your juice."

She rolled over, rubbed her paws across bleary eyes, and whispered, "Don't talk so loud."

For some reason, that struck him as funny. But then, everything today was brighter and happier and livelier, since her fever had broken the night before. Modulating his voice downward considerably, he said, "Okay. But sit up. You need to eat."

Reluctantly she complied with his request, but as soon as she took the first bite she realized exactly how hungry she really was. The toast and juice disappeared shortly and she asked, "What else ya got?"

"That's my girl!"

"Yes, I am. Your starving girl." She swung her legs off the side and steadied herself, preparing to stand. "If you let me lean on you, I'll sit in the kitchen and save you a few trips."

"If you're sure you can do it. That fever put you through the wringer."

"Just get me in front of a plate of your scrambled eggs and stand back."

"Fair enough. But I think I'll do wheelchair duty this morning, just in case." And so saying, he picked her up and carried her to the kitchen.

"Mmmm. Now that's service."

"We aim to please," he said, placing her gently in the chair. "Can you sit up without any trouble?"

"I'll manage. Do we have any bread handy? Or some coffee?"

"Coffee we have. But no bread, _per se_. I'm afraid you'll have to settle for English muffins and marmalade."

"Gimme!"

He chuckled while he prepared the rest of her breakfast.

##

A cool breeze tickling their whiskers, Wendy and Karl stretched out to take up the whole of the glider. He reclined on it lengthwise, his feet dangling off the end, while she lay on his chest, snuggled. He'd brought out a light blanket to drape over them, in case her recovery wasn't yet entirely accomplished. But she seemed quite content just to lie there in his arms.

After a time of simply enjoying the day, she said, "Karl? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Promise you won't get mad?"

"I promise."

"You've only been a Christian for a few years, right?"

"Right. Since May of 2013."

"That would have made you … sixty-three at the time."

"Right again. What of it?"

"That's kinda old for a conversion experience, even if you aren't … that is, not that you're '_**old**_' old, obviously, it's just … sort of odd."

"Why?"

"Most furs are pretty much set in their ways by then."

"I've had an unusual life."

"Boy, you can say that again."

"I sense another question in there, though."

"Yeah. What made you do it?" She poked the end of his nose with an accusing finger. "And don't say 'The devil made me do it' or anything silly like that."

"He didn't, you know. The devil wants to keep people away from Christianity. The true form of the religion anyway." He chuckled ruefully. "Actually he gets quite a bit of mileage out of some denominations."

"Don't _even_ go there." Grimacing as she recalled the group of cultists that had invaded her property, she added, "Reverend Grey is the only preacher I've ever met that I could stand. And one fur does not a religion make."

"Sometimes he does, you know."

"… 'scuse me?"

"Would you like the back-story?"

"Very much."

"I moved to Vermont permanently in early 2011. I'd had a base there for a couple of years, I liked the area, and decided to make it my home." He glanced off into the distance, and his voice dropped a little. "Before that … I'd been on something of a … quest, I guess you could say. A one-fur campaign to rid the world of a criminal cartel."

"Did that have … anything to do with Phoebe's death?"

"That's what clarified my purpose for me."

"So you went after the … what were they? Mafia?"

"Nothing so mundane. The Cartel had over two hundred different criminal and terrorist organizations under its umbrella."

"… I remember you talking about them. Big outfit. Quarter-million members or so, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I went after the head of the snake, though. Didn't waste any more time than I had to with the low-levels peons. And I had a measure of success." He stroked her headfur. "But that's just the condensed version of 'where I came from', not the conversion story."

"Okay."

"Eventually I ran out of terrorists to kill and sort of slipped into retirement. I opened the Fixit Shop in March of 2011. I didn't advertise. Wasn't trying to drum up business. It was just a front, nothing more than a façade so that I could blend in, and if I lacked custom, so much the better. All I wanted was to fade out and not be bothered."

"Sounds lonely."

"It was. The loneliness turned out to be a much bigger problem than I'd thought it would be, which surprised me." He paused for a moment, letting his claws drift through her headfur again. "Always before I had stayed so busy all the time, either traveling fast or doing away with the Cartel leaders, that I never really paused to take stock of my situation. After settling in the New Haven area, I finally had time for some introspection … a lot of time … and that wasn't necessarily a good thing. See, the problem lay primarily with the fact that I was unique, for all practical purposes. I'd been trained as a covert operative, basically a government hit-fur. But I stopped thinking of myself that way, and started to consider myself as just a plain, old, garden-variety freak."

"Karl!"

"Well, it's true. I wouldn't have existed – in this state, anyway – if the ISB and a certain megalomaniac hadn't messed around with the natural order of things." He paused again, drumming his fingers on the back of the glider. "I toyed with the idea of doing away with myself."

She shot him a look. "Well, since you aren't dead may I assume you had limited success with that venture?"

"Nah. I never really _tried_ to kill myself. Thought about it a lot, but never did anything concrete about it. When it came to computing the cost/benefit ratio, I was just a little too curious about this body they gave me."

"How so?"

"I wanted to see how long I'd live, given the revirescent nature of the experiment's outcome."

"Ah. So you aren't _finished_ with the experiment." She snuggled a bit more firmly into his chest. "Good news for me."

He smiled down at her. "At any rate, I did get lonely. Very lonely. So I ran an ad in the county paper, just a seven-day shot, and shortly had a fairly regular clientele. Since the electro-mechanical gizmo that I can't fix hasn't been invented yet, I got lots of word-of-mouth. Folks started coming to me from all over the county, and then from _neighboring_ counties. I got to know Quinn via business dealings between the Shop and his general store, and through him, your uncle."

"I'd wondered."

"Yeah." He laughed softly. "What a character. I could sit and listen to Julian's stories for hours." Giving her a sidelong glance, he continued, "In a way it's sort of his doing that I became a Christian."

"You're kidding."

"Oh, he didn't mean to. I don't think he ever gave religion of any kind a second thought. But I got to know Alan Grey because of Julian's … idiosyncrasies."

"What's so special about Reverend Grey?"

"That's easy. He means what he says, he walks the walk, he is passionate about his prayer life, he'd take a beating before telling a lie, he takes _very_ seriously Christ's instruction to love your neighbor as yourself, he trusts God absolutely, and he's probably the most humble fur I've ever met in my life."

"… Oh."

"Yeah. _'Oh'_. I'd never encountered anyone like him before."

"How did Uncle Julian know him?"

"He really only knew him to speak to him if they met on the street, which very rarely happened, given Julian's proclivities."

"Oooookay, I'm confused again."

"I'll explain. Once I got a clientele going, I started taking more interest in the neighborhood. I took part in some of the get-togethers and community activities, and got to know more of the locals. One of those was Siobhan O'Musca."

"Oh! Okay. No, wait." She thought hard. "She goes to Reverend Grey's church, doesn't she?"

"Yes. That's part of the story, but I didn't know it at the time. I met her through Robin Wainwright, the lady that runs the consignment shop. That's where Siobhan did her shopping. They were in very tight straits, having lost Martin, Sr. about a month before. He didn't have any insurance, and she had started doing alterations to bring in a little money. Robin told me about her, more in the way of chit-chat than anything else, but it got me started thinking. I found out where they lived, and paid a visit; ostensibly, it was just to be neighborly. Truthfully, I was curious about the family. And I was very impressed with what I saw. Siobhan kept everything running smoothly, and Martin was a tremendous help to her. He was trying to find some odd jobs to do, so I hired him as a courier."

"A what?"

"He was my pick-up-and-delivery service. Occasionally. It was very part-time at first, but later that fall I offered him a position as a sort of apprentice, and he jumped on it. It worked out very well for both of us. He was an exemplary employee: hard-working, conscientious, and he had a real knack for all things mechanical, even if he was a bit scatter-brained from time to time. We got on together very well. I picked up Irish Gaelic, and started teaching him the basics of electronics, and a little paw-to-paw combat. Siobhan began inviting me over for dinner about every other week. I quickly learned to bring something along, so there would be enough for everyone."

"Heh! Yeah, I'll just bet you did. Eat those poor dormice blind."

"I tried not to. But she's no small shakes as a cook, as you know."

"True." She shifted, and then turned over so that her back rested against the back of the glider. "And how does that relate to Alan Grey?"

"I'm getting there!"

"Get there faster. The scenic route is nice, but I want to see the destination."

"Pushy. So, anyway, one day Siobhan went out to Julian's place to check on him and he's on the roof."

"On the roof? How the hell did he get up there?"

"An excellent question, and one which he declined to answer. He was tripping the light fantastic along the ridgeline out to the Folly. She was scared silly that he would fall, and he finally did slip down to the gutter. Fortunately it was stout enough to hold him, but he was pretty shaken up and called down to Siobhan to go get help. Alan was the first one she thought of."

"Not the paramedics? Come on!"

"Your uncle, if you'll remember, didn't like or trust doctors, and wasn't wrapped too tightly under the best of circumstances. Siobhan knew that." He tapped a fist on the back of the glider. "Anyway, she ran inside and called Pastor Grey, and he rushed right over. But there wasn't much he could do. I mean, Julian was curled up in that big, bronze trough, some twelve meters off the ground, and he wasn't budging."

"I still don't see how _you_ got involved."

"Through Martin. He and Alan had spoken about me at some length. Alan wanted to make sure that working for me would be … spiritually safe, you might say. So he knew a bit about my mechanical aptitude and he figured I might have some way to get Julian down."

"Which you did, of course."

"Well, yeah. I brought one of my lifts out to the Inn – which wasn't the Inn at the time …"

"Right."

"And I was able to reach him with it. Later, after Siobhan got him tucked in and made sure he'd had something to eat, Alan and I had a chance to talk. He was a very engaging sort of fellow."

She agreed. "Yeah, he can hold up his end of the conversation, that's true. We had a nice chat when he came out to the Inn the night those nut-jobs tried to burn a cross in my yard."

"Hmh," he grunted, frowning slightly. "I _still_ don't know why he didn't tell me about that at the time."

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she answered, smiling a little, "Yes, you do."

"… Okay, maybe I do." A guilty grin crept over his face. "Did I mention that he's an excellent judge of character?"

Her clear laugh rang out to the day. "No, but it doesn't surprise me."

"He made a good impression on me. Now, Martin had been inviting me to go to church with him and his family. He didn't make an issue of it; just let me know that I was welcome if I ever wanted to drop in. No pushiness … and he didn't have anything negative to say about my personal habits, either."

"What personal habits?"

"Oh. Well … you remember when we were talking on the way back to the Inn after I fished you out of the creek?"

"Uh … yeah. Kinda. That's been a while."

"Do you remember what I told you about wolverines?"

"… I think so. You said there weren't that many of you because wolverines were loners, and had bad tempers, and carried grudges … oh. Okay, I see what you mean. That's how you were then?"

"Correct. My years spent hunting terrorists made me suspicious of practically everyone. I wasn't the most courteous fur you ever met. I tended to be rather quick to judge anyone's motives, and I _never_ forgot a slight." He offered her a bleak grin. "You might say I wasn't good company."

"Sounds like it. But Martin put up with you anyway."

"He did. After a while I got to thinking about it, and being a part of a local religious group struck me as a good addition to the cover I was trying to maintain. Meeting Alan confirmed that for me."

"So that's when you started going to church."

"Yes. Just an elaboration on my façade. But as Providence would have it, at the very first service I attended, Alan gave a cogent presentation of the Gospel message. I found myself highly intrigued."

"Why? You'd never heard it before?"

"Not that way."

"Is that because you were from Finland?"

"No, it was because my parents, who were nominally Lutheran, had no real interest in religion. I'd been to the odd Christmas or Easter service as a child, but all I remember from those were a bunch of rote prayers read out of a book that didn't mean anything to me. Alan's message – the Gospel message – was different … personal. Some of the things he said stuck with me to the point that they were practically all I thought about over the next few days. I borrowed a Bible from Martin and read it. It left me with a host of questions, and I went to Alan's house and asked him about them. We talked for hours and then he gave me some commentaries from several noted theologians, and that helped, too. I read Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, C.S. Lewis, Sproul, Schaeffer, Wesley, Zwingli, Calvin, Dobson, Colson, Milton, Cowper, Bunyan, and dozens more. I got a real fire for the subject."

"Huh. So you didn't come to this decision with your eyes closed."

"Heck, no. The basic doctrines of the faith explained a great deal about many things I had observed in life, particularly as pertains to the nature of evil and why so many people, deep down, are not very nice."

"You really think that?"

"That most furs are basically wicked? Yes. Absolutely. My personal experience confirmed for me the truth of the doctrine of the depravity of furkind."

"Depravity? What, we're all _depraved?_"

"In a word, yes."

"That's harsh."

"It's a very specific definition of 'depraved'. It isn't that we are as bad as we can be. It's just that we are all bad to _some_ degree, we all have a tendency to put our own interests before those of others, and any degree of 'bad' is enough to get between us and God."

"And you actually agree with that?"

"It made more sense than any other system I'd ever explored."

"But it's … it's so rigid!"

"It does look that way on the surface. But the whole _point_ of Christian doctrine is that we can't _earn_ our way into heaven. There isn't anything that any of us can do that is good enough to merit favor with God."

"I … think I've heard something like that before. Yeah. Not those words, but yeah. The idea pissed me off."

"Then you must not have heard the rest of the story."

"And that would be …?"

"Christ's sacrifice, in taking our place and suffering the whole of God's wrath against sin – in the place of us sinners – _**is**_ of sufficient merit to secure a place in heaven, because he never sinned. He was innocent, but took our punishment."

"… Ah-huh. So … because of that … what, everybody gets to go to heaven?"

"Everybody who believes that, and who trusts His sacrifice rather than trusting in their own works."

She turned and looked him in the eye for several seconds, finally shrugging and looking away. "I'm not really sure I buy into that whole 'sin' thing in the first place."

"Many furs would agree with you. Some don't buy it because they've gone through the philosophical exercises for defining it and either couldn't do so to their satisfaction, or came to the conclusion that it didn't exist. Or they used suspect philosophical methods in the first place. Some reject the concept of sin because the idea makes them uncomfortable. And then there are many furs who just can't be bothered to think that hard."

"Heh. That would apply to a lot of areas in life."

"True."

"So, okay." She shifted again and turned around so she could prop her head on the back of the glider, sort of facing him. "You don't fall into any of those categories. You looked into the doctrine and read all the books and thought it all through and decided to become a Christian. Is that it?"

"Ehhrhhmhh … sort of. That laid the groundwork. It didn't build the house."

"So who's your carpenter?"

"That would be Alan. And to some extent his wife, Sandee. All the theories and book knowledge and doctrines and commentaries and cross-references in the world will not necessarily convince someone to change his worldview. And I was certainly jaded enough, had a sufficiently jaundiced opinion of furkind, and a big enough stubborn streak that I'd have to see some proof … something that would put some material credence in the theories."

"And Alan did all that?"

"He did."

"How?"

"Just by living the way he does."

"Care to share some specifics?"

Karl thought his answer over for a minute and said, "His whole life is lived the same way, but I'll give you one outstanding example. Have you met his family?"

"No, just him."

"He and his wife Sandee have six kids. They look like your basic happy, wholesome nuclear family, and that's no deception. They have that parenting thing knocked, and they have a wonderful relationship … now. It wasn't so simple earlier on."

"Why not?"

"Sandee … well, she's changed a lot. Alan met her when he was just finishing up his doctorate in ancient languages. He was a very bright student, and had a promising future, but his family never did have any money to speak of. He worked his way through school, to supplement his scholarships, and he was twenty-six before he ever owned a car."

"Was Sandee in school, too?"

"Not at the time. She had enrolled in and dropped out of three, and was currently between arrangements."

"Oh. Not the stellar student."

"No. She wasn't a very good student. She was certainly bright enough, but the motivation just wasn't there. She'd rather party."

"Uh … okay. But she married a _preacher?_"

"It's a complicated story. I'll give you the Cliff's-notes version." He drew a long breath and blew it out slowly through his nose.

Wendy held up a paw. "Hold that thought. I gotta have something to drink. Be right back."


	22. Chapter 6 Made Fast Part C

_**Chapter Six – Made Fast – Part C**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

When Wendy had returned with a tall glass of tea, Karl continued his story. "Alan and Sandee met when he was on his way back to his apartment from a night class. The most direct route led through a very seedy part of town. He witnessed Sandee getting beaten by her pimp, and …"

"_Pimp?"_

"Pimp. And he intervened. He'd been a Golden Glove boxer as a kid, so he knew how to handle himself. He managed to knock the guy out, but he got shot for his trouble."

Wendy's jaw threatened to fall off her face.

"They helped support each other until they got to his place. His wound wasn't bad, a small-caliber through-and-through in his upper arm, really more of a deep graze, but it hurt a lot and he'd lost some blood. He was afraid that if he went to the emergency room, she'd be gone when he got back, and he was plenty worried about her. So he just took a long shower and washed the wound out the best he could. She bandaged it up for him and put him to bed. Fortunately, he was feeling well enough the next day to take care of _her_ as she started going into meth withdrawal."

"Ho. Lee. Crap."

"She didn't _want_ to take the meth, had _never_ wanted to take it, but her pimp had forced her, and the physical addiction is very strong. She stayed at his apartment for a week, had several seizure-type episodes, but wouldn't let him take her to the doctor. She was afraid her parents would find out where she was and what she'd been up to."

"Wait, wait, wait! How old was she?"

"Not quite twenty-two. Alan's four and a half years older than she."

"Twenty-two." This was said quietly, as she contemplated what he'd told her. "How was she paying for school?"

"That's how she got started turning tricks in the first place, because she couldn't afford tuition with just the part-time jobs and the few grants she managed to scrounge. One of her roommates at the time had done some freelance tail-peddling and suggested it. I think the salacious aspect of it attracted her, too." He shook his head a little. "If she'd been a more conscientious student … but then we can never know what might have been. Anyway, she was too proud to go to her parents for the money. They'd not parted on the best of terms, you might say."

"That's very sad."

"It is. But Alan finally talked her into going to stay with _his_ parents, who treated her with dignity and compassion. That wasn't something she was used to."

"This sounds so much like a soap opera!"

"That it does. So he finished out the last three weeks of his semester, gave his dissertation, and went home. He and Sandee talked a great deal over the next month or so, but then it transpired that Sandee was pregnant."

"… Oh, _this_ just gets better and _better_."

"She had no clue who the father was. Half the time she spent on her back she was in such a fog of drugs she couldn't even remember doing it, much less who with. She was terribly ashamed and wanted to get an abortion. Alan laid out the facts of what that really entailed, and offered to arrange an adoption for her. His parents said she could stay with them as long as she needed to."

"Boy, parents sure do come in different varieties."

"Meaning?"

"I'm reminded of Cinnamon."

"Ah. Yes. A different story, to be sure."

"So she stayed with them?"

"Yes. She did some soul-searching, thought it over thoroughly, and decided that her screw-up wasn't the baby's fault, and she should carry to term. Alan got a position at a local charity rather than the big metropolitan church where he had been accepted as Youth Director. That amounted to a cut in pay of about eighty percent, but he never gave it a second thought. He knew that Sandee needed as much support as she could get, and his parents were rather old and not in the best of health. Over the next seven months they got very close."

"How 'close'?"

"Not _that_ close. Or, not close _that_ way. Sandee fell in love with him, and fell hard. At first he was convinced that it was only a 'rescuer crush' reaction, but as the time passed she responded so well to their nurturing, and changed and improved her outlook so thoroughly, that she became open to the Gospel message and made a profession of faith about midway through her third trimester. About the same time, Alan realized he was in love with her, too. Amelia was born exactly nine months to the day from when he had rescued Sandee."

"And did she give her up for adoption? Or, wait a minute …" Realization dawned on her face. "You know her name, so Sandee must have kept her!"

"Correct. And Alan married her four months later. It took some … convincing on her part. Sandee thought of herself as damaged goods. Thought with her 'sordid past' as she put it, she would be bad for Alan, bad for his career, bad for his position as a pastor. He disagreed. And he was right." He snickered. "That part of the story, just those few months between Amelia's birth and their marriage, has the makings of a full-length action-adventure-romance novel. I won't go into any details right now, but if we have the time later I can fill 'em in. Suffice it to say that he managed to convince her, beyond possible doubt, that he loved her."

"Wow. Just … wow."

"And then as soon as the ink was dry on their marriage certificate, Alan started the paperwork to adopt Amelia."

"Hang on. You said Sandee was on meth at the time, didn't you?"

"Yes. And Amelia's birth weight was a little low, and she has dyslexia and a slight touch of Tourette's Syndrome. But she takes something for that to keep it under control, and she has overcome her dyslexia magnificently. Also, as it turns out, Amelia's birth father – whom they never found – was also a gray squirrel. So she looks enough like the rest of the kids that it causes no comment."

Wendy just flopped back against the glider and stared at him. "So he married a former hooker and adopted her daughter who she conceived off one of her johns."

"Yep."

"And you say they are a happy couple."

"Ecstatically so. They're downright cute around each other. Almost embarrassing sometimes."

"Huh." She chewed on that for a while, and Karl lay back and closed his eyes, giving her what time she needed. He'd been hearing bird calls for a while, wafting up from the trees by the lake, and concentrated on species. The constant _khraa-krhaa-khraa_ of a nutcracker served as a backdrop for a crossbill's _whistle-click_ song and the cheery chirp of chickadees. Mixed in were at least four he didn't recognize. _I'll have to get a birding book sometime. Maybe I can identify them then. _He catalogued each call or song for later use.

Finally she spoke. "Let me see if I have this straight."

"Fire away."

"You did a whole lot of background research on the church. But the research wasn't what pushed you over the edge into being a Christian. That came from watching how a _real_ Christian lived his life. Correct?"

"Yes. Very good. It all just added up beautifully."

"And Reverend Grey has a big, happy family now."

"Also correct."

"What if he didn't?"

"… Didn't what?"

"What if he'd gotten a divorce? What if Amelia ran away from home and became a hooker?"

"Well … he didn't. And she doesn't show any inclination to do that."

"But what if he did? What if Sandee decides one day that she doesn't love him any more and just leaves? What if his congregation gives him his walking papers? What if one of his kids decides not to be a Christian?"

"I see. What if life doesn't work out the way he wants it to?"

"Yes. I mean, it sounds like he's got life pretty well settled, but I know for damn sure it doesn't always stay that way."

"Correct. This life carries no guarantees, other than that suffering and death will always be with us."

"What will he do then?"

"He will pray, and trust God, and leave it in His paws."

She just stared at him. After a moment she asked, "Are you serious?"

"One hundred percent."

"But why?"

"Why? What else do you imagine he might do?"

"He might decide the game ain't worth the candle, that's what. He might decide that it isn't worth his time to follow a god that would allow that to happen. Do you think _that_ might be one outcome?"

"Oh. I see." He took her paw in his, stroked the palm and down to the tips of her fingers. "You speak from personal experience."

Her mouth was hard. "Just answer the question."

"No, I don't see that as a possibility. I could be wrong, but I don't think so. Alan has too firm a commitment, too deep a relationship with God, too real a knowledge of Christ to turn away like that. It wouldn't be logical."

"What about you?"

"I would hope I could stand firm in the face of adversity, and not blame a just and loving God for my misfortune. Doing otherwise wouldn't be rational."

"Rational? The hell! That _doesn't_ _make_ any _sense!_"

"Why not?"

"If God doesn't help you in life, what good is He?"

"Hmh. I see. The pragmatic approach." He swallowed and said, "A fellow named John Fischer put it very well. He said, _'__If Christianity is no more than a system that answers all of life's questions, then to admit any … shortcomings is to be something less than a good Christian. But in our own attempts to be good Christians, we undermine our need for God. We want Christianity to work. We want it to exist in a closed system where every question has an answer, every problem has a solution. We want to show the world a neat, clean, open-and-shut case for Christianity. But in the process, we unknowingly shut out God. Claiming to be wise, we become fools; we exchange the truth of God for a lie.'_ I'm afraid," he admitted, "that I do that more often than not. It's a constant battle I have with my inner nature. I so often forget to keep an eternal perspective on things, to keep firmly in mind that God can use all my circumstances for good, and that He loves me no matter what."

"Well if it doesn't give you the answers you're after, what good is it? Hell, most plain ol' philosophical systems do better than _that_."

"Because we _do_ need God."

"You'll pardon me if we differ."

"Yes, I will."

"Thanks."

"I'd also like to know why you feel that way."

She didn't say anything, only crossed her arms and snuggled into his chest.

"You did say you'd tell me."

"… Yeah. I did."

"Is now a worse time than any other?" He held her close and kissed the tip of one ear. "You know I'm not going to go all judgmental on you."

"I know." Her voice was very small.

"We certainly don't have to go through the whole library right now. But if you could give me the thumbnail of the prologue, I think it would help us both."

Turning her head upward, she held his gaze soberly for a moment before heaving a long sigh. "Okay."

"Are you comfortable?"

"Physically, yes, if that's what you mean."

"It is. I know that you are about to venture out of your comfort zone emotionally."

"Just don't be surprised if I cry a lot, okay?"

"You can think of me as one great big, plush crying shoulder."

She rubbed her paw up his arm and laughed softly. "They are pretty big, aren't they?" Rearranging herself somewhat she said, "Okay. Um … let me get one … um … big thing out of the way first."

"Shoot."

"Uh … back in … October … um, you remember when, uh, there was that … party at Michael Truefoot's?"

"Yes. And I am so very sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, I don't know that you being there would've made any difference in who died and who didn't. It was a surprise attack, and …"

"Yes, I know, and you're right."

She gave him a confused look.

"I've had that discussion before, with Chris Foxx. Still, I felt bad."

"Eh. You can feel bad if you want to."

"Thanks, I guess. So, what about the party?"

"Ah. Um … okay, really before the party, there was … a guest at the Inn. A hare named Harry Capensis. His wife had just recently died. He had his daughters with him." She glanced back at Karl's face. "He had … there was … his, um, father-in-law came to see him. Old fart of a shrew named Edwards." She squeezed her eyes shut and gave a small shudder. "He was so … evil. Just blindingly, horribly evil. He worked things around somehow to get Harry's daughters away from him. And I'm not completely sure, but I think he had something to do with his own daughter's death. I know he was responsible for some sort of big accident that Harry got blamed for. It wrecked his career."

Karl could tell the incident had affected her deeply. He simply held her, giving her the time she needed to collect her thoughts.

"I … tried to help him." She caught and held his gaze, gripped a lock of his fur in one trembling paw. "I let him hide in the Inn. Made a place for him in the attic. But … Edwards knew. Somehow he knew where Harry was, and he sent police and they arrested him, and Harry took all the blame. He … acted as if … I hadn't had anything –_snff_– to do with … him –_snff_– with him being there." She buried her face in his chest, wetting his fur, talking into it. "He sacrificed himself … so I wouldn't … get into any trouble. –_snff_– And I didn't. But he went to prison."

"_Prison?_ What for?"

"I don't know. _Edwards_ arranged it." She spat the name. "He's in some sort of diamond-mining family from South Africa, and richer than Croesus. I guess he bought a judge."

A dark frown settled on Karl's brow. That sort of thing got him really exercised.

"Anyway, all that stuff happened that night that I got back from the party."

"What, the police coming to arrest him?"

"Yeah. And there was a crew there from **The Inside Scoop** and they were just _horrible!_" She gritted her teeth. "That stupid Procyon bitch better hope I never find her alone. I'll break her in half." She glanced at Karl and asked, "Did you see that piece they did on Harry and me?"

"No. I don't watch much television under the best of circumstances, and shows like that make me want to do bad things to the production executives."

"Get in line."

He chuckled softly.

"So then, after they all left and Ellen and I were trying to console each other, trying to make some sense out of what happened, we got a call from Martin and Samantha. They said Michael had died on the operating table."

"Yes. He did. His wounds were worse than they had appeared. From what I was able to find out it's doubtful that he would have lived, even if he'd been taken to the hospital right away."

"Eh. Point is, he died. That was kinda the last straw for me. I, uh, I ran outside and, uh, kinda told God to, uh … to go to hell."

"Oh, yes?" He sounded vaguely amused.

Giving him a hard look, she continued, "Yes. I screamed at him for a while. Threw things, pounded the ground. Called him every name in the book, and made some up when I ran out. Had a right old fit."

"Understandable."

"_Understandable?_ Is that all you can say?"

"Um … what would you _like_ me to say?"

"What would I _like?_ … Tell me how … you should say … you could … well, what's the _Christian_ thing to say? Say that!"

"Okay." He cleared his throat and assumed a stern expression. "Thus saith the Lord: God will forgive you if you ask."

After a few seconds of unreadable stare, she rolled off his chest and made her way unsteadily to the door.

He sat up and asked, "What's the matter?"

"If you aren't gonna play straight with me, this conversation's over."

"I've never been more serious in my life."

Still a bit woozy, she leaned on the door frame for support while putting an answer together. "Sorry. I don't buy it. Nobody who would condemn whole people groups to death for breaking one stupid rule would forgive somefur who talked to him the way I did. Like I said before, it doesn't make sense."

"Wendy, I wrestled with the same questions."

"Well what sort of magical solution did you come up with that let you get around it? 'cause I don't see one."

"There's nothing magical about it. It's called mercy."

"Mercy."

"Yes."

"Ah-huh. I understand when somebody like the governor shows mercy to a criminal, like when he commutes a death sentence to life in prison or something. But that's a legal sort of thing."

"So is this."

"… Explain yourself."

"Erm … okay, let me back up a step. See, there's no degree of sin. In God's eyes, a sin is a sin is a sin."

"And again I say: that's stupid. You want me to believe that telling a lie is equivalent to genocide?"

"Equivalent, no. But in terms of what will act as a barrier between us and God, it's just as effective. _Any_ sin will do that, no matter what it is."

"So … according to you, even if I lived a perfect life for a hundred years, and right before I died I told somefur a lie … that would keep me out of heaven?"

"Um, putting aside for the moment the breathtaking unlikelihood of your example, the answer would be 'yes'. But the best of us sin many times a day."

"What, even the preacher?"

"Absolutely. He would tell you that he is among the worst."

"So he can't get to heaven _either?_ What's the _point?_"

"Not at all. I have every confidence that Alan will be with the Lord when he dies."

"_You_ aren't _**making**_ any _**sense!**_"

"That's where mercy comes in."

She slid to the floor and tucked one leg under her. "Okay. Convince me."

"I can't. That's not my place."

"Could you _possibly_ stop speaking in riddles?"

"I'm not. Just listen a minute."

She crossed her arms and clamped her muzzle shut.

"Do you recall what I said about Christ's sacrifice?"

"You said it was … sufficient for something. Or something."

"Yes." He thought he saw an opening and took it. "Because God made us, He wants us to be with Him in heaven. But because we all sin, we can't get to heaven. But He wants us there. But we've effectively shut ourselves out. But He wants us with Him …"

"_Just __**please**__ get to the bloody __**point!**__"_

"The point is, with us, with mortals, it's an impossible dilemma. We can't solve it. But because God is not limited the way we are, He can solve the problem. And He did it with Christ's sacrifice. That paid the penalty for our sin."

"How does that let 'sinners' into heaven? I don't see a connection. If I posit that sin exists, and assume that you are correct in that we all sin, then we've all done something that keeps us out. Right?"

"Yes, but that's thinking like a mortal."

Slamming her paw on the floor, she shouted, "I _am_ a mortal! It's the only way I _can_ think!"

"But God's eternal, and He _doesn't_ think like that. So, if you stop trusting in what _you've_ done, and start trusting in what _He_ did, then when God looks at you, He doesn't see your sin. He sees Christ's perfection instead. It covers your sin."

She looked away, scratched at one ear, and rearranged her legs. "Covers it."

"Yes."

"… Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why would he bother?"

"Ah. Yes, that was one of my biggest questions. With so many devout, upstanding and downright nice furs in this world, why would God waste any time worrying about me? Why would He care about a guy who is basically – if you strip away all the semantics – a calculating, devious, self-centered mass-murderer?"

That got her attention. "Okay. Fair question. Why?"

"Because He loves me."

She snorted. "So we're back to that 'God is love' stuff? I figured you'd end up there sooner or later."

"And that bothers you?"

"Damn straight it bothers me!" She stood, took a step in his direction. "_God_ doesn't give a flyin' _**fuck**_ about me!"

"But He does!"

"Bullshit! If he gave _one good god-damn_ about me he wouldn't have killed Emily!" She was stalking slowly toward him. "He wouldn't have _murdered_ my little girl! He would've kept Arthur from _beating_ me half to death and _killing_ my baby and leaving me _barren!_" Stopping at the glider, she stared down at him, her golden eyes all but glowing. "My life would _not_ have been _one long_ _**string**_ of _**disasters!**_"

He sat up, putting their eyes nearly on the same level, and held out a paw. She batted it aside, and spat, "After all _you've_ been through, I don't know how _you_ can believe that crap _either!_"

Pain and contrition plain on his face, he said, "Wendy … my sweet girl … I'm sorry. I should have dropped it. Shouldn't have pressed the issue."

Her chest heaving in indignation, she stared at him for a few seconds. Then the dangerous light behind her eyes banked and she slumped and turned away.

He rose, stepped up to stand behind her, and placed both paws on her shoulders. "Sweetheart, I apologize for putting you through this. I don't think we're ready to have this conversation yet."

She spun and grabbed him in a fierce hug, sobbing, "Karl, I don't know if I'll _ever_ be ready for it! It just _hurts_ too much."

"I know. Shh. I know." He held her close and rubbed a paw up and down her back. "That's okay. There's no hurry."

Using one sleeve to wipe at her cheeks, she asked, "Can we go back in? I'm cold."

"Sure. Come on. I'll fix you a grilled cheese sandwich."

"Okay. But use the light goat cheese. And no butter."

"Perish the thought. That's what first-run cold-pressed olive oil is for."

##


	23. Chapter 6 Made Fast Part D

_**Chapter Six – Made Fast – Part D**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

_** Thursday 11 May 2017 – 4:20pm **_

The high-pitched whine of a precision electric grinder met Wendy's ears when she opened the back door. Trotting over to the outbuilding, she eased inside and watched for a minute. The big wolverine had one of the powersled's downdraft assemblies on the workbench and appeared to be smoothing out something. She moved over into his field of view and stood there, paws clasped behind her back. He turned off the device, stood, and said, "Hello," with a wary tone to his voice. Reading her body language, he could tell she wasn't nearly as tense as she'd been earlier. Her clothes were different, too. Whereas before a long robe (and tightly crossed arms) had sufficed, she was now attired in a yellow-print sundress; she'd fixed her headfur up, too.

"Um … hi." She swayed slowly back and forth once and continued, "Uh, look … I've, um, kinda-sorta got supper underway and I wondered, uh, what kind of pie you'd, uh … you'd like. For dessert."

"Oh. Pie? Um …" He cocked his head to one side and considered her closely. "What are my options?"

"Peach or apple or key lime."

"Do you have a preference?"

"Not really."

"Okay. Key lime, then."

"Good." She flashed him a tiny smile and moved toward the door.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

One paw on the doorframe, she stopped and looked back at him. "Forgiven? For what?"

"For stomping all over your feelings yesterday."

Before answering she came back and stood in front of him. "Karl … sweetie … you didn't."

"Oh, but I did. I could have …"

A slim paw reached up to cover his muzzle. "It's hardly your fault if I'm hypersensitive about certain subjects."

"That may be the case." He took possession of her paw. "But I could see that you were uncomfortable. I don't normally need to have a clue _nailed_ to my forehead before paying attention to it. I got all zealous and didn't shut up when I should have."

"Oh, I know that. I didn't say it was _all_ my fault. But I could have shut it down, too. I kept asking questions, knowing all along where that conversation was headed."

"So … we can talk again?"

"I'd like that very much. I know I was kinda distant last night … and today … and I'm sorry. I just … had a lot to think about."

"I could tell. I tried to give you your space, which isn't all that easy under the circumstances."

Patting his forearm, she answered, "You did fine, Hon." And then she moved into an embrace.

He nuzzled the top of her head. She responded by lifting her face and stroking the side of his muzzle with hers. That led, very naturally, into a long kiss that left them both a little breathless. She whispered, "Oh, yes. _That's_ what I've been missing."

"So have I."

"I think I've had enough 'space' now to do me for a while."

"I am _**so**_ glad."

"Kiss me again."

Supper, it soon transpired, was to be delayed. They didn't seem to mind.

##

_** Fri__day 12 May 2017 – 11:40pm **_

Having finished with his evening's surveillance, Karl opened the door to his room and then pulled up short. Curled up snug under the blankets on his bed, Wendy opened sleepy eyes and gave him a smile. "Hey."

"Uh … I think you've got the wrong room."

Her smile got a little wider. "Nope."

"Then where am I supposed to sleep?"

Flipping back the top edge of the covers, she patted the mattress.

"Ah …" He licked his lips. "… I don't think that'd be such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because … things might … prevail."

"Nope. I'm not in heat any more. Maybe you picked up on that."

"… Yeah. I did. So?"

"So I'm not '_dangerous_' right now."

"Says you."

"Anyway, this is where I need to sleep. So I am."

"You _need_ to sleep here?"

"Yep."

"What does that mean?"

"It means this is where I belong."

"I …" He paused to clear his throat. "I think you should go back to your room."

"Nah. Too comfortable."

He took a step in her direction. "But if you … that is, if we …"

"Why are you still standing there arguing when you could be sleeping?"

"Because I'm afraid I wouldn't _be_ sleeping."

"That, my love, would be _entirely_ up to you."

He huffed in exasperation. "But that's _my_ bed!"

"So?"

"Would you please get out of my bed?"

"No."

"You didn't have to think about **_that_** answer very long."

"Oh, but I have. I've worked on this decision for days."

"I think it should be as much my decision as it is yours."

Wendy shook her head decisively. "I disagree. I already know how you feel. More importantly, I know how _**I**_ feel. This is best."

"Best in whose estimation?"

"Best, objectively."

He barked a short, wry laugh at that. "When was the last time you were objective about our … your feelings?"

"_Our_ feelings. And you may as well give up. You won't win this argument."

"I could just go and sleep in yours, you know."

"And I would just follow you in there, you know."

He only stood and stared at her, his mind whirring.

"Look. I'll make you a deal, okay?" She put one arm out from under the blankets and made the Scout Salute. "On my honor, I will do my best to leave you alone … **_that_** way. How's that?"

"Hmph."

"I'm not lying, Hon. I just want to sleep with you."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, goofy. When you love someone, you want to spend time with that person. And I feel better … safer … when I can snuggle up with you."

As if being drawn against his will, he shuffled over to the bed. She patted it again. "Go ahead. I don't bite."

"If memory serves, that isn't entirely accurate."

"Dear? Come to bed. I need my beauty rest and you're keeping me awake."

Slowly, he slid the blanket aside and stretched out next to her. Claiming a pawful of his chest fur, she nestled against him. "Thanks, Hon. That's nice."

He regarded her soberly for a moment and then put his arm around her back. "You're welcome."

"Good night."

"… Sleep well."

"I love you."

"… I love you, too."

##

**The most beautiful love is red-gold:  
the color of senses on fire,  
the tender-most kiss of a lover's day,  
tracing an arcing desire.**

_**-Julia Bassett**_

##

_** Saturday 13 May 2017 – 2:00pm **_

While Karl was busy tidying up the workout area and putting away their equipment, Wendy slid into the house and reappeared shortly with a small sack in one paw. The wolverine caught her bright, expectant look and walked over to where she stood in the doorway. "You've got something up your sleeve."

"Very good. Would you like another guess or can I just tell you?"

Grinning at her, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "I can already see that it's smaller than a breadbox."

"A lot lighter, too."

He considered the sack for a moment and shrugged one shoulder. "Go ahead and tell me."

"How 'bout I show you instead." She reached into the bag and withdrew a long strip of wide, golden-yellow ribbon.

Clearly confused, he reached over and took the end of the ribbon between two fingers. "Well … it's pretty. What's it for? My headfur isn't quite long enough for bows."

Nervously, she glanced around the big room for a moment, then took his paw and led him over to the edge of the wrestling mat. Facing him and kneeling on the mat in front of him, she grasped his other paw as well and asked, "Karl Luscus … will you marry me?"

He jerked as if shot. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Wendy … are you … sure about this?"

"Just p-please … answer the question."

Studying her face, he saw a number of frightening emotions race across it. But he hardly hesitated at all before replying, "Yes. With all my heart."

Her relief palpable, she cried, "Good!" Springing to her feet, she hugged him (which he returned gladly) and then tugged away and pulled him toward the door. "We need to get outside for this next part."

"Outside? Why?"

"You'll see. Come on."

"And how is there a 'next part' if you asked and I said 'Yes'?"

She giggled but didn't offer any other explanation.

The last few days had comprised one long and impassioned advertisement for northern Alberta's tourism industry. Bright sun and a startlingly deep blue sky occasionally flocked with a few fluffs of cloud stood guard over a riotous wealth of wildflowers. The checkered patches of red and yellow and white springing up from the easy green of new grass stretched away to the horizon, meandering between small fields of snow that had yet to melt. She led him through this vernal wonderland down to the lake, stopping among the birches where she faced him, standing close.

"We don't have a magistrate or a preacher or even a notary public near enough to use," she observed, "or I'd marry you today."

"I love your enthusiasm … but what's your point?"

"Just this." Passing him one end of the long strip of silk, she wound her end three times around her right wrist. "One for heart, one for mind, one for body."

His jaw dropped. "You're talking about a Pawfasting!"

"I am."

"I … I hadn't thought of that."

"Would you have considered it if you had?"

"Absolutely!"

"So it doesn't … bother you?"

"No! Not at all! I think it's a great idea!" He smiled at her and stroked the headfur away from her face. "I just wish we had some witnesses."

"Wow. That went a lot easier than I thought it would."

"Really? Why'd you think I'd have a problem with it?"

"Well, you're a Christian and this is a … sort of a pagan-type ceremony."

"Heh. You mean it's been _adopted_ by modern pagans. It goes waaaay back further than that, and was widely used in the early Church."

"Oh! Huh. I didn't know that."

"See? You're cleverer than you realized."

She grinned. "I'll take it."

"Well, hey, if you can wait until tomorrow, we could leave early and hike down to Heidi's place. She's got an ATV, and we could round up another fur to be a witness."

She reached a slender paw up to gently touch his muzzle and said, "In the first place, this is just in the way of a temporary sort of arrangement, just until we can get to somewhere civilized and make it all nice and legal. In the second place … do you think that having witnesses present at our declaration of love will make that love any more real than it already is?"

His grin spreading, he said, "You know it wouldn't."

"So if we stand here, and do this now, and pledge our love to each other …"

"Then God can be our witness."

She curled her muzzle. "… Works for me. Though I don't really think I _need_ his approval."

"Maybe not. But I do." Seeing the sardonic look on her face, he just grinned even wider and said, "Humor me."

"Okay. No problem."

He took the ribbon and wound it about his wrist as she had done. "One for heart, one for mind, one for body."

"So you know how to do this?"

"Yes. I've seen a few."

"Good. 'cause I'm doing it from memory."

"May our memories shower us with gladness."

She answered, "Of my own free will do I come to this union."

"I, as well, come to pledge my love freely."

"As the stone is firm, so is my commitment to you."

He smiled. "As the star is radiant, so will our love shine." And he clasped her paw in his and looped the ribbon around them.

Overjoyed that he was getting into the spirit of the ritual, she knotted it again and countered, "May the power of our dedication and love make us inseparable."

"May the joy and happiness of our love," he said, bringing another section of ribbon around their paws, "lead us into one mind and one spirit."

"Let our patience and humility with one another carry us through the storms that are bound to come in this life." She added a loop to the knot.

"And may we possess one another, not as chattel, but as free, secure in the knowledge of our love."

Her breath a little ragged, she offered, "May warmth and affection and peace attend us all the days of our lives together."

"And may our love grow as we grow, unfold as our lives unfold, and strengthen as we know each other more fully."

Her eyes pellucid and brimming, she could only swallow and whisper, "Amen."

He pulled her into a tight embrace, and they lost themselves in the silent passion of darting tongues.

##

_** 8:20pm **_

With a last flick of the towel, Karl finished drying the few supper dishes and strode off to take a quick shower before joining Wendy on the porch. It had become something of a ritual with them, this decompression time at the end of each day. After she mentioned how much she enjoyed that time while back at the Inn, he figured a reprise might do her some good here as well.

It didn't take him long to get clean, and then a reasonable facsimile of dry, and he headed toward the front of the house, whistling. But as he passed the door to his room, he skidded and did a double-take.

Wendy waggled her fingers at him and said, "Hey, lover."

"Uh … wow."

She giggled. "Thanks."

He came into the room, drinking in the vision she made. Lying on her side, her head propped up on the back of one paw, she was dressed – if one wishes to call it that – in a sheer baby-doll of emerald green lace. Stepping very slowly toward her, he asked, "Where in the world did you get that?"

"Same place you got me that silk gown."

"I don't recall the purchase."

"I snuck it by you. Wasn't easy, either." Stretching languidly, she inquired, "Was it worth my being sneaky?"

"Oh, you kid." He sat on the edge of the bed. "How do you expect me to resist you in that thing?"

"Well, obviously, I don't."

He took a breath, prepared to speak, but she placed a delicate finger over his muzzle. "Need I remind you, my fine husband, that this is our wedding night?"

Several expressions chased each other across his face, with delight coming up the clear winner. "You know … you're right. It is."

"And I'd like to see …" she traced her finger from his chin, down along the hollow of his throat "… what sort of lover you are …" and down the length of his chest, and then somewhat lower, "… when you have time to think about it, and you aren't, um … _distracted_. Not that I had any complaints."

Grinning like a kid with a new bike, he answered, "I will be more than happy to show you." He ran a paw down her arm and around to her back. "Seems almost a shame to take this off, though."

"But darling," she whispered, "that's what it's designed for."

##


	24. Chapter 6 Made Fast Part E

_**Chapter Six – Made Fast – Part E**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

##

_** Wednesday 17 May 2017 – 10:10am **_

Another beautiful day, rich with the scent of wildflowers, with ever-present birdsong a chorus of praise, greeted Heidi Mortensdottir as she tooled up on her ATV. Her sharp eyes scoped the homestead, finding no sign of fox or wolverine, or any sort of normal activity. Parking in front of the porch, she hopped off, bounced up to the door, and banged on the frame with a fist. "Hey, Karl! Get ya mangy butt out here! I got a job for ya!" And she waited. Impatiently. For nearly eight seconds.

_Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!_

"Hey Luscus! The day's bloody well half-gone, so I **_know_** ya ain't still in bed." She placed her ear against the door, listening intently, and was shortly rewarded with sounds of stirring inside. Moving over next to the door, she leaned on the wall beside it and rapped a knuckle rhythmically on the storm door glass until it opened.

Karl stuck his head out, rubbing sleep out of one eye, and took a long breath. "Good morning, Heidi. Is there something I can do for you?"

She gave him a swift but keen appraisal and threw out a laugh. "_You_ got lucky last night, eh? _All_ night, looks like. Smells like, too."

"Did you ride all the way over here just to speculate on my personal … business?"

"No. Just wanted ta ask a favor, eh?"

"Ah. Of course. And you have such a tactful way of presenting your case."

"Get ya lazy self outta bed at a decent hour and it wouldn't come up."

"Since I don't have anything pressing that's just _begging_ for my time outside," he retorted acidly, "it shouldn't make any difference, should it?"

Her laugh echoed again off the wall of the house. "None o' my business, then. Not like I care who yer bangin'. Have fun, what I say."

"And what would be the nature of this 'favor'? Or am I allowed to ask?"

"Sure. Want ya ta watch my place."

"Watch it? What, does it do tricks?"

She socked him on the arm. "Always a cut-up. No, I'm gonna be away for a bit. Few months, maybe six. Just wanted ta know somefur'd be keepin' an eye on it, time ta time." She pointed at the ATV. "Thought ya could use this while I'm gone."

"A loaner?"

"Yep."

"That's thoughtful."

"Practical. Ya said ya big sled was the only transport ya had, and it ain't gonna do ya much good without any snow."

"True. I'm in the process of converting it to hover capability, but it isn't there yet."

"Hover? Like hovercraft?"

"Yeah."

"Well damnation. That'd be somethin' ta see." She scratched at one of her ears, flicking it back and forth several times. "Really think ya can?"

"Undoubtedly. It's a matter of time, rather than talent."

"Not shy about tootin' ya own horn, there."

He grinned. "_Facta non verba_. False modesty is a sin."

It was at that juncture that Wendy came up behind him and ran a paw up the back of his arm. "Honey?" Her voice was tense. "Who's there?"

"It's Heidi. She wants me to watch her place while she's gone."

"Oh!" Wendy stepped out onto the porch. "Good morning, Heidi."

"Thanks. It is that."

"Where are you headed?"

"My least un's gettin' hitched. 'bout friggin' time, too. Their baby's due any day now."

"Oh. Hm." She mulled that for a few seconds and offered, "So you're going to the wedding, and then staying to help out with your grandchild?"

"Got it in one. She's a sweet girl, my Reba, but not the most organized thing ya ever met."

"Really? I thought wolves were renowned for their sense of order. My ex certainly was, and your cabin is a wonder of efficiency."

"Yeah, might be if she was all wolf. But her daddy, rest his soul, was a black bear. Most scatterbrained male God ever let live, and it passed on in spades."

The vixen chuckled. "A lot of them are like that."

"Not ya fella, here. Or not most times, anyways." She grinned broadly and said, "Seems like he's slipped a bit since takin' up with _you_, though. Must be keepin' him occupied _reeeeal_ good."

"One does one's best." She appropriated Karl's left arm and looked up at him. "I could say he returns the favor handsomely."

"Awriiight!" Heidi pumped a fist in the air. "You go, girl! 'bout time this big stiff got loosened up right proper."

"Oh, I agree completely. But, um, I sort of prefer him _stiff_ as opposed to _loose_."

Heidi slapped her thigh and laughed. "Bet ya do! A hard man is good to find, as the sayin' goes."

"I feel," Karl interjected, "like a side of meat at auction."

Wendy nodded. "Both sides. I want the whole package." She giggled and leaned her head against him. "And I do adore your package."

Karl hadn't blushed in some time, but this situation warranted one. "I'm going back inside now. I need to change if I'm taking you back."

"Shower wouldn't hurt, either. Ya got so much hot-lovin' smell on ya, gonna have half the critters in the woods followin' ya."

He gave her a pained look, shook his head, and disappeared into the house. Heidi nudged Wendy with an elbow. "He any good in the sack?"

"Oh, girl, you have no _idea!_"

"Glad ta hear it. Always good ta have somethin' ta occupy ya time on those long winter nights."

"Or those long spring mornings," Wendy answered, ticking points off on her fingers, "or those long summer evenings, or those long fall afternoons, or …"

Heidi cracked up.

"Would you like to come in? I'll hook you up with some herbal tea and we can sit in the kitchen and chat while Karl gets clean."

"Sounds good. Lead the way."

##

**Give a man a fish,  
****and you feed him for a day;  
****teach a man to fish,  
****and he'll sit in a boat and drink beer all day.**

**- **_**Dave Barry**_

**##**

_** Thursday 25 May 2017 – 7:20pm **_

They made good use of Heidi's ATV. Karl built a small trailer to go on the rear, which they would load up with food and supplies, and they'd take off for parts unknown. Karl taught the vixen the basics of fly-fishing, but she never took to it the way he'd hoped. She explained about her early impressions of the sport, and humored him most of the time, but what she _really_ loved to do was set up her easel and paint while he fished. When he'd catch enough, they'd build a campfire and sauté or roast the fish to flaky perfection. More often than not, the afternoon would be whiled away in intimate dalliance, and they'd ride back to the house in a pleasant haze of afterglow. They never ran across any other furs on any of these excursions, a fact which she had remarked earlier that day.

Karl explained, "I agree that it seems a bit odd. But think about it. The closest little hamlet is fifty clicks away, over some pretty rugged terrain. The neighbors hereabouts – most of whom aren't really close enough to call neighbors – keep to themselves. Anyone that comes out _this_ far has his reasons for not wanting company."

She'd snuggled in close, running her paw down the long fur of his thigh, lazing in the agreeable warmth the sun brought to his nearly-black pelt. "Hey, I wasn't complaining. I'm _glad_ we've got this setup."

"So am I," he answered, pulling her in for a long kiss.

They arrived back at the homestead around sunset, and Karl quickly stowed their gear so he could check his terrorist-bait sites. Wendy was brushing out her headfur in their room (it still brought her a rush of pleasure to think of it as 'their' room) when she heard the big wolverine let loose with a sulfurous curse. It startled her so to hear him use that sort of language that she jumped up and ran to the other room.

Karl was on his back under the monitor station. A cover lay on the floor beside him, and a quantity of some sort of grain or seed made an untidy pile around him. She stepped over and gave it a closer look. "What's all this?"

"Blasted _vermin_!"

"Vermin?"

"Voles! Stinkin' voles got in my equipment!"

She wrinkled her cute little nose. "Now that you mention it, it does smell awfully mousey in here. How come we never noticed it before?"

"Because the computer housing is hermetically sealed. Or it was. There's a hole in the floor."

"I thought the floor was a concrete slab."

"It is. And, no, I can't explain it. Yet. But right now I have bigger problems."

She didn't care for the sound of that. "Did they screw up something?"

"Made a larder out of my CPU. There's corrosion everywhere. And it looks like they've chewed up part of the signal acquisition system."

"Can you fix it?"

"… I don't know yet. Give me a minute."

She squatted beside him, trying to see inside, but his bulk pretty much filled the access port. He poked around, twisted this way and that, muttered imprecations under his breath. She sat down to wait on his verdict. Finally he squirmed back out and sat up, brushing seeds out of his fur.

"Crap. Crap, crap, crap. No. I can't fix it, not easily or quickly. So far I've found three components destroyed that I don't have replacements for. I'll have to see what I can cobble together out of my other spare parts."

"Well, shit. What does that mean?"

"That means we have no satellite access until I get it repaired."

"That's bad, isn't it?"

"It's … well, yeah, it could be. This is our only link to the outside, and I get really antsy if I lose touch with things."

"You do seem to be addicted to the information flow. You check it every night."

He gave her a hint of a grin and answered, "Eh. Every night that we aren't otherwise occupied. The last couple of nights being good examples."

"Heh. Yeah."

"You're right, though. And I maintain such a close watch over things because I want to know if anyone is after us."

"And so far, the answer has been 'no', hasn't it?"

"… Well … yes."

"And you said that nobody at your old place of employment has a clue where you went, right?"

"… That's true."

"And didn't you say a few days ago that Interpol had cracked down hard on the Cartel in New England?"

"They have. Some of that is due to information I retrieved and passed on to their public tip site."

"So they're a lot more interested in keeping their skins intact than they are in trying to find you."

"Also true. You make excellent points."

"So all you need to do is see what can be done about putting something together to get around the damage. And if you find that you just can't do it with what you've got, then when you get the powersled working again we'll take a trip to the nearest place with a Radio Shack and buy what you need."

He rocked back and rose to his feet, then offered her his paw. "You are a veritable pillar of good sense."

She let him help her up. "No sweat."

"Indeed. Not with you providing some perspective."

"My life is but to serve, milord."

"Heh. Unquote."

"Maybe so, but I don't have an ulterior motive."

"Which is one of the several thousand reasons I love you."

She moved into his arms, laid her head against his chest. "I really love hearing that."

##

_** __Wednesday 31 May 2017 – 5:10am **_

Rolling over in a state of half-sleep, Wendy flopped an arm onto Karl's side of the bed. When it registered on her blurred senses that he wasn't there, she raised herself on one elbow and peered around the room, finally noticing the sheet of paper on his pillow. She picked it up, squinting, and then flipped on the reading light.

_Sweetheart –_

_You might (or you might not) recall that we talked _  
_yesterday about going fishing today. That means _  
_getting up early. But when I broached the subject _  
_to you around 3:30, you mumbled something about _  
_'insane furs' and gave me a blip on the snout._

_Have a nice sleep. I'll be back around noon with lunch. _  
_I'm going to the western tributary, so you can expect trout._

_All my love,_

_Karl_

_That silly wolverine._ She folded the note twice and stuck it under her pillow, repositioned herself under the blankets, and shortly drifted back off to sleep.

##

_** 10:00am **_

In an effort to avoid making two trips, Wendy had her arms very full and a bagel between her teeth. She nudged the door open with one hip and scooted through sideways, her easel and the box with the paint set occupying her left side, the large canvas in its cover dangling from her right shoulder. Her policy over the course of Karl's previous several excursions had been to stay close to home so that he wouldn't have to go looking for her. So she walked around to the south side of the house, which achieved the desired view of that end of the valley. She stopped and set everything up.

A basic sky and the meadow in the foreground she had completed yesterday morning, and she was anxious to get to work on the stretch of evergreen forest and the low mountains in the distance.

A perfect day offered itself to her brush. High, scattered clouds played tag in the deep blue sky overhead, looking down on a valley floor awash with wildflowers nodding in the slanting sunlight. Far in the west she could see a nascent thunderhead building up. _Karl headed that way. I hope he'll be all right._ A fresh breeze came from the same direction, but as yet brought no hint of the storm. _Still too far away. That's good. Maybe I can get this done before it gets here and changes the light._

She got to work quickly, filling in the basic mass of the low mountains, and then running the line of forest across in front. Concentrating on her art, doing her best to capture the spirit of the day, she paid no attention at all to the passage of time. Her only 'clock' was the changing angle of the sunlight.

She really got deeply into her paintings, and tended to tune everything else out. So she can hardly be blamed for not hearing stealthy footfalls behind her. The first indication she had that everything wasn't copasetic was when, despite the direction of the breeze, a wave of incredibly foul odor washed over her. Her head jerked up. She half-stood, whirled around …

All she got was the briefest glimpse of matted black fur before something slammed into the side of her head and she fell away into darkness.

. . .

. . .

. . .

**Here Ends Chapter 6**


	25. Chapter 7 Attainment Part A

_**Chapter Seven – Attainment – Part A**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

**You can have vengeance or peace, but you can't have both.**

**-Herbert Hoover**

##

_** Wednesday 31 May 2017 – 10:44am **_

Karl stood past knee-deep in the current, playing the line cautiously. If he was any judge of such things this would be the largest trout he'd gotten all morning, and since he was only using ten-pound test he had to work it with great care. The fish was a real fighter!

A distant thunderbolt pounded down off in the west, and Karl spared a quick glance in that direction. _Looks like that storm will be here before much longer. Better wrap it up._ Another few minutes of skillful angling was required to get the trout to net, and it went into the creel with the other four. Wendy would be pleased. He knew the vixen had quite a taste for trout, and had taken the time to develop a number of excellent recipes for cooking the fish.

He waded to the bank, watching the storm front approach. _Coming on more quickly than I'd thought. Time to hustle, old son. _It was a matter of ten minutes or so to get everything packed up and back on the ATV. He judged that the storm would allow him perhaps another hour and a half as a grace period before things really got wet, which would give him plenty of time to make it back home. He hit the trail, whistling a melody from the first movement of Dvorâk's "New World" Symphony.

##

An hour and fifteen minutes later, he parked the ATV under the motor shed. He got out, snagging the creel on the way, and trotted around to the south side of the house.

"Hey, Wendy, unlimber your frying pan. Wait'll you see what I got."

He stopped three steps around the corner, eyes wide. Her brushes and paints were scattered about. Her easel was knocked over, the landscape she had done lying a couple of meters away with a large hole in it. He dropped the creel.

"**WENDY!** "

Shifting his vision and speed, he quickly inspected the area around the easel: a few tiny flecks of blood, perhaps indicative of a contusion … and the necklace Nicu had made for her. No _way_ would she have left that behind voluntarily. It went into a pocket. He made a high-speed circuit of the immediate property, sensory input at max. He found the strange tracks easily enough and quickly pieced together what must have happened. Canid. Large but not terribly heavy. Smelled absolutely atrocious. Approached her from behind. Much heavier (carrying someone?) leaving.

She had been abducted. Violently.

That made no sense. How did the interloper get the drop on her? She wasn't a world-class martial artist by any means, but she was no slouch either.

He got the ATV back out and began following the tracks. It was not difficult, given the terrain and the fact that her captor was making no attempt to hide his trail. He would follow the spoor from the vehicle as long as possible, to maintain his resources for later.

##

Wendy spun back to consciousness very slowly, almost gently, as if awakening to a lazy Saturday morning. At a certain point, however, awareness overcame oblivion, her eyes flew open, and the nightmare congealed into terrible reality.

Her clothes were gone. She lay there, spread-eagle on a large, flat rock. Her paws were bound to something under the rock, out of her field of vision. The sky was overcast, and shading toward dark gray to the east. The stiff wind ruffled her fur, stronger gusts carrying a hint of the storm that was on its way.

She was cold. Her left temple throbbed with a dull ache where she had been hit.

A scraping sound was coming from somewhere in front of her, and she craned her head forward as best she could to see.

Her heart rate doubled.

The big wolf crouched some three meters away. He was naked, gaunt, and filthy, covered in a variety of weird designs that had evidently been painted on, and was employed in sharpening a large knife against a smooth river stone. He looked up at her when she gasped, his mad, red eyes boring into hers. She couldn't look away.

He stared at her for half a minute, then went back to sharpening his blade.

"Arthur?" Her throat was dry and her voice sounded cracked and weak in her ears.

He ignored her.

Resting her head back against the stone, she waited a minute and tried again. "Arthur? Is that you? Would you please say something?"

_Scraaaape, scraaaape, scraaaape, . . . ._

"Artie, please untie me. This isn't funny."

He continued working on the edge of his knife as if she had not spoken.

Panic was beginning to make itself felt. What was _Arthur_ doing here, of all people? And after so many years? "Okay, Arthur, ha-ha, good joke. But the joke's over. Now UNTIE ME!"

The scraping sound ceased. He stood up and walked several paces away, almost out of her view, and pulled something from a pack or bag he had leaning against a tree. He came back toward her, came right up to her.

She tried her most ingratiating smile. "Thanks, Artie, now if you'll just . . ."

He gripped her muzzle crushingly tight. Her eyes bulged. She could not _believe_ the strength in his paw. He held her mouth closed as he wrapped a thick cord several times around it, secured the gag and knotted it. Then he went back to his original position, squatted down, and resumed sharpening the knife.

_Damn son of a bitch! He's serious. He's not letting me go. _

She knew that he had been unbalanced. His episodes of violent behavior during their marriage had escalated toward the end, culminating in the attack at Ruby's house that had sent him to prison. But he had never communicated with her after that, not even once. When he got out of prison he vanished. It was as if he'd dropped off the planet. She had just about succeeded in eradicating his memory, too. Any more, if she thought of him at all, it might be with a vague sense of regret that things couldn't have worked out. She hadn't hated him. She hadn't felt anything about him one way or the other.

It appeared that he did not reciprocate that indifference.

The scraping noise stopped. She looked over to where he had been hunkered down, only to see him walking off into the thin trees. Soon she lost sight of him.

_Gotta get loose._

She began pulling frantically at her bonds, trying to work a paw loose, but Arthur had done his work well.

_**Stinkin' Boy Scout knots! Gotta get loose!**_

She only succeeded in lessening the already scant blood flow to her paws.

_**Dammit!**_

She pulled her left arm as hard as she dared.

It hurt. A lot.

She would have yelped, had her muzzle been free. Then she heard Arthur returning and lay still.

He had a small bunch of twigs, leaves, and branches in one paw. He resumed his original position and proceeded to carve on them with his knife.

Wendy began looking around, trying to see if there was _anything_ nearby that would help. To her left she saw a curious contraption of vines, skin, bits of shiny metal, and feathers stretched between two trees. It bore a vague resemblance to a dream-catcher, except that it was several times too big, rectangular, and very crude. There was a small pit in front of it, and the blackened remains of a fire.

But what she could see to her right was grisly enough to raise her hackles.

He had half-a-dozen small animals of various types hanging head-down from a line of some sort that he had strung up between two saplings. The cord was passed through their back legs, between tendon and bone. They were all still alive, and some were struggling feebly.

When Arthur finished whatever it was he was doing with the leaves and twigs, he picked up a large wooden bowl that Wendy had not been able to see before, and walked over to the line of animals. Selecting a large squirrel, he held the line still with one paw, grabbed the animal around its middle, and pulled. The tendons in its back legs separated with an audible pop, and it screamed and thrashed around. Wendy winced in disgust and vicarious pain. Arthur turned around so that Wendy could see what he was doing. As he stared at her, he took the squirrel in both his paws and twisted and crushed it, pulverizing its bones and internal organs. Then he used his knife to slice off its head, and pressed its blood out into the bowl.

Wendy squeezed her eyes shut and fought desperately to avoid throwing up. With her muzzle bound as it was, she knew, she could suffocate on her own vomit.

She kept her eyes closed while Arthur carried out the exsanguination of the rest of his victims. But she could hear _every one_ as it died, and her view of the first death replayed with horrid clarity each time.

After a bit she heard him approach and ventured a quick peek. His eyes locked on hers again, unblinking. She couldn't bear that mindless stare, and turned her head away.

If he was trying to scare her, he was doing a handsome job. She was so terrified she could barely form a coherent thought, and her tears were flowing quite freely.

She wished he hadn't gagged her.

She wished she could say something to him.

She wished he would give her some clue as to what it was all about.

She wished she could be _anywhere_ but here.

One of his paws grabbed her muzzle and yanked her roughly back to face him. But it was not because he wanted eye contact; rather it was to steady her head. He used his small bunch of twigs as a paintbrush, and began decorating her fur with the blood he had collected.

She tried to squirm out of the way, but he was possessed of phenomenal strength, especially for one so obviously near starvation. He held her face in a painfully tight grip and continued his work. She tried to scream, but he had her clamped so well she could hardly draw any air through her tortured snout. Her starving lungs ached.

_I'm going to faint. I don't want to faint. Please don't let me faint._

Nor did she. He stopped painting, seemingly satisfied with the results, and released her face. She drew long, ragged breaths through her nostrils as she tried to get some oxygen back into her system, then gave a muffled cry as he began working on her torso.

Wendy was not sure how much time passed while he was thus engaged. It felt like a lot. The storm was much closer, the air alive with the negative ions that heralded its arrival.

Arthur completed his grisly paint job by dabbing each wrist and ankle with what felt like a small pattern of dots. As he finished each one, Wendy felt a sharp prick that left a burning sensation behind. He moved around to a spot just past her feet and lifted the bowl over his head.

Wendy heard the wind pick up and rise in a thin moaning. But then, when it neither died out nor changed volume, she realized the sound wasn't wind. It was coming from Arthur. It was a high, almost painfully keening cry, a tattered wail such as a small child might make if it were in agony. It changed then, sliding up and down a short scale, setting her teeth on edge. It was wild and sad and angry and it contained nothing of rational thought in it anywhere. That cry was pure response to stimulus, and it frightened her worse than anything else he had done … but at no time during the wailing did he open his mouth. Wendy began sobbing uncontrollably through her gag. Her wrists and ankles felt clammy and were hurting worse; it hurt to move them, it hurt to hold them still.

The banshee-cry stopped suddenly, and he lowered the bowl slowly to his lips and drained it. Then he came around to her head and unwound the cord that held her muzzle shut. The returning circulation made it throb.

She looked into his red, soulless eyes and managed, in a very small voice, "P-please let me go."

Instead of answering her, he turned away, walked over to stand in front of the web thing, pulled his knife from its sheath, and held it high in one paw, his head thrown back. His voice, as he said the first words she had heard him speak, was radically different from that in her memory. It was raspy, ancient, barren, bereft of emotion, dry as the molted husk of a spider.

"Hear me, O Master." He moved the knife slowly in a complete circle, keeping his arm straight.

"Feast on the pain of my enemy." He brought his paws together over his head.

"Rejoice in her screams." He pushed the knife slowly through the palm of his left paw. He never flinched or even seemed to notice.

"Taste her fear." He pulled the knife back out and let his arms drop slowly to his side. Blood dripped from his left fingertips.

"Devour her soul." He formed his paw into a cup shape and stood very still for most of a minute while his paw bled. Then he tossed the pawful of blood onto the web, knelt, and held that pose for another minute. If she hadn't already been well beyond terror, the fact that he began radiating in a colorless, almost black glow would have frightened her horribly. That the blood he'd thrown on the web soaked in and disappeared, she missed entirely.

He rose and walked back over to Wendy. Anything she might have wanted to say died unborn as she stared at the dark shimmer that clung to him like syrup.

He met her gaze for a quarter-minute, then said, "Now you will begin to die."

"_**NOOOOOOOO! . . . . . . . . "**_

##

_Many the long and thirsty eons passed_

_Since last the Overlord had been so near_

_To one who would now be its prized possession_

_A plaything and a source of keen delight_

_A brimming well of fear and ardent pain_

_To sate and nourish all its raving hunger_

_For time and times and many times to come_

_And now it crouched in raw anticipation_

_The rite would soon complete the transformation_

##


	26. Chapter 7 Attainment Part B

_**Chapter Seven – Attainment – Part B**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Wednesday 31 May 2017 – 12:26 pm **_

The far-off cry was so faint it might have been lost on the wind. ". . . . . . . . . n o o o o o o o . . . . "

Karl's head whipped around and up toward the source of the scream.

Augmenting speed to its peak, he raced up the mountain, negotiating the broken terrain at almost sixty klicks.

". . . . . . . . . p l e e e e e a s e ! ! ! a a a a i i i i i ! ! ! ! ! n o o o o o ! ! ! . . . . "

He corrected course slightly, angling toward a short cliff near the summit.

". . . . . . A A A A A A I I I H H H ! ! ! ! . . . . NOOOO! . . . . A A A N G H! "

The last scream broke off short. Still fifty meters to the cliff. And only silence from the top. He made it to the base and jumped, cleared the small pile of scree there, swarmed up the cliff face, and vaulted over the edge in a forward spinning motion.

##

The shimmering, black field of energy was beginning to exude its first eager tentacles. Arthur moved another section of small intestine out of the way. He pushed the stomach to one side and was angling his knife upward to cut through Wendy's diaphragm when Karl's heavy throwing blade took him through the sternum. The force of the strike bowled him over and knocked him backwards almost four meters.

Karl ran to Wendy and what he saw made every hair on his body stand erect. She was unconscious and bleeding freely. Arthur had sliced her open in a long, ragged incision side-to-side across her upper abdomen, then another shorter one at right angles down almost to her navel. Some of her viscera had been moved out of place, and two loops of intestine were hanging down her side.

Karl started praying fervently.

He began putting everything back in as best he could, arranging the various organs where they should be. He couldn't see any arterial bleeding, but he was going to have to get the rest of it stopped or she'd die of shock. He folded the flayed skin back together and made to reach into a pocket.

Then some instinct picked up movement and he turned in time to avoid getting cut. Amazingly, the wolf was on his feet, had _pulled out the knife_, and lunged at him.

His long years of training making the motions automatic, he allowed the wolf's strike to pass him closely, then caught the flying arm in preparation for a joint lock.

Karl was presented then with the first of several severe shocks. Despite his emaciated appearance, the wolf possessed incredible speed and starkly unbelievable strength. In perhaps three fifths of a second he broke from Karl's grip, plunged his knife into the wolverine's side, caught Karl's right arm in both his paws, and **_threw_** him a good fifteen meters into small pine. The tree snapped off, and Karl rolled another four or five meters, fetching up against a boulder, his back aching and his head ringing.

This was outside his experience. Time seemed to slow for him as he ratcheted his own Augmentation to peak. Several things occurred simultaneously or in very quick succession.

He reached down and yanked out the knife. The wound closed immediately, and he shut off the pain receptors to the entry site. An ordinary knife would have had great difficulty penetrating his sub-dermal lattice, but this was his own blade, and between its superlative edge and the wolf's strength, it had sunk to the hilt. No major muscles had been cut, so Karl didn't worry about it.

He looked to where the wolf stood. Blood surrounded the hole in the center of his chest, but the withered being didn't seem to notice. If the fact that he hadn't killed the wolverine surprised him, he didn't show it. He reacted with unearthly speed when Karl got to his feet, springing at him, claws extended.

Karl decided immediately that he had no interest in testing this fur's strength again paw-to-paw. He jumped well out of the way, bouncing off a large boulder, flipping, and drawing another blade in mid-air. He landed behind the skidding wolf, sending his knife into that skeletal back where he assumed the heart should be.

But the wolf didn't drop. Instead the creature reached back and pulled it out, then whipped around instantly to face him, pressing the attack. Karl parried five stinging blows in the first second, his eyes widening in surprise. It was taking everything he had just to hang on to the blade! The attack was supernaturally fast, and he hadn't faced another sentient being this strong since Alpha died. But thankfully, his opponent lacked skill.

He pulled a couple of subtle and devastating moves of his own, resulting in a gash in the wolf's side deep enough to penetrate the liver. And though it bled somewhat more freely than the first two strikes, the creature did not seem to feel it, which concerned the wolverine mightily. _How much damage can this thing take?_ It was in that instant that Karl noticed the energy field surrounding the wolf.

_Ah-ha!_

Incredibly, this creature was some kind of Augment as well. That made his decision for him. The wolf's mind-boggling stench had already forced him to shut off his olfactory receptors in self-defense, yet another good reason to stay out of its reach. Fighting a tactical retreat, he quickly backed toward the thin trees. In a purely defensive posture, he found he had no real trouble holding off the wolf's attacks, and it gave him a few moments to formulate a plan.

He maneuvered the wolf in and among the trees until the creature was standing on the roots of one of the bigger poplars. Then he pulled out a long throwing blade and sent it thudding into and through his enemy's foot, just below the ankle, pinning him to the root of the tree.

That's also when Karl heard the voice of his _real_ enemy. The wolf's lips never moved. His face seemed frozen in a feral grimace. But the air around him darkened and shimmered, and in sibilant tones, three words came forth:

**SLAY HIM, FOOL!  
****  
**

_What in Heaven's name was that?_

But he had no time to wonder about it. He knew that, with the physical strength the wolf had shown, his respite would be brief. He backed off just enough to give him the space to concentrate for the couple of seconds he'd need.

Now, as he had explained to Wendy, it was only on very rare occasions that he used his Augmented strength. He hardly ever had the need, and doing so was a tremendous cost to his system in terms of energy. But here, he was already in combat mode, defending the woman he loved, defending his _mate_. All restraints were thrown to the rising wind. He made the internal adjustment, shivering as he felt the enormous power flow into his limbs. And that awful voice came again:

**SLAY HIM! **

The wolf held his head and cowered, mewling roughly as if in agony.

**COMPLETE THE RITE!**

He jerked at his leg twice, then, as Karl had hoped, he reached down and wrenched the knife free with his paw. Now he held two blades, and he came after the big wolverine with both of them. Karl noted in passing that his foe neither limped nor bled from the wound.

But this Karl knew well: if someone was unpracticed using _one_ blade, trying to use _two_ did not give him any added advantage. It simply divided his attention and limited his ability to use either.

In seconds, Karl had gained the upper paw in the fight. He disarmed his foe – literally – lopping off the wolf's left arm above the elbow, and then sending the other blade spinning over the edge of the cliff. He sprang away from the repulsive thing, expecting the shock of amputation to end the fight. But that didn't happen.

During his tenure with the ISB, Karl had seen enough amputations to know what would happen. Given the clean cut, the arteries should spurt blood for the thirty to sixty seconds it would take for the wolf to bleed out. Spurting, however, failed to occur. It was as if some external force was holding the vessels closed.

Once more the wolf came at him, screaming madly, his berserk fury undiminished by the loss of most of a limb. Karl could see the dark energy field unfurl like a monstrous banner, and it pulled his hackles stiffly erect. This was _definitely_ not covered in the manual. Not wanting any part of that living darkness, he bounded to the side to avoid the creature's rush, and as he did so one of the oily tendrils brushed, ever so lightly, across his back.

He shivered violently. Disgust of an intensity he'd never imagined flooded his psyche. There was a moment of disorientation as both he _**and the wolf**_ curled up in shock. Then that hideous, reptilian voice, that Other that had commanded the wolf to kill him, screamed in pain and fury and disbelief, and shouted,

**NO! **

**SLAY! SLAY! SLAY!**

An electric tingle ran through Karl's side and he put a paw over the spot: the pocket where he'd stashed Wendy's sapphire necklace.

As the wolf got back on his feet, shook his head, and ran at Karl with a howl, the wolverine yanked the necklace free. Looping the chain quickly around the hilt of his blade, he noted the blue gem's intense glow. He held the stone hard against the guard. Then, calling upon all his considerable skill, he blurred into a typhoon of destruction. He knew, to a gram, how much force he could exert through any of the several thousand possible forms in his repertoire. In the next five and a half seconds he applied maximum power to eight of the most damaging. That oily field of viscous energy seemed unable – or unwilling – to touch him. The wolf came apart like a house of cards in a gale.

An agonized, unearthly shriek rang out from the growing negative space above the dark creature, reverberating much longer than it should have, and making the hair stand straight out all over Karl's body. As the wolf's astral connection severed with a ringing report, the sapphire cracked, shattered and vanished. Waves like those that hover over desert roads in summer quivered out through the trees in every direction, ruffling the leaves and making the small branches sway. The creature expired, and quiet descended on the forest.

Karl kicked one of the pieces of the dismembered corpse away in revulsion and turned back toward the cliff's edge where Wendy lay staked out and bleeding. As he shuddered out of battle-mind and shed his Augmented strength, he sagged noticeably. A ravenous hunger instantly consumed him. His vision blurred, but he shook it off and stumbled over to the rock.

He started to cut her limbs loose, but then decided he would have less trouble sewing her up if she couldn't move, in the event she regained consciousness. Moving quickly, he pulled out a length of monofilament and one of the fishhooks he always carried, and got to work. It took him almost three minutes to get the gaping wounds closed, and her breathing was getting frighteningly shallow.

He severed the cords at her wrists and ankles and picked her up. Then, as gingerly as he could while maintaining a good pace, he made his way back down the mountain to the ATV, as the storm arrived and the first big drops began to fall.

##

Rain fell steadily and hard, washing the rocks clean of the blood that no longer leaked from the wolf.

The left leg remained partially attached to the lower torso, but that was about it. The second and fifth thoracic vertebrae were crushed, the spine severed completely where Karl's knife had raked his lower back, and both the chest and the abdominal cavity gaped open to the elements. The wolf's head lay three meters away, its left side a shattered ruin. The right arm was back toward the trees, the left even farther away, where he'd lost it. The right leg had gone over the cliff.

And yet . . . . The vital spark remained. The bargain held. And though he could not speak, though he could feel nothing, he called.

_[ [ master ] ]_

But he got no answer.

_[ [ master . . . . help me ] ]_

He had volition to make the call only once every few minutes, so for the rest of the afternoon, as his remains lay soaking in the rain, he called.

_[ [ master ] ]_

But the effort was wasted.

He couldn't spare the energy to think about his situation. What little self-awareness that remained wasn't able to understand anything except that he needed help.

##


	27. Chapter 7 Attainment Part C

_**Chapter Seven – Attainment – Part C**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Wednesday 31 May 2017 – 2:41pm **_

Bent low over the bed, Karl checked her vital signs again, as he had done at least every other minute for the last half-hour. Blood pressure seventy over forty-five, pulse one-fifteen and thready, respiration ragged and shallow.

Not good.

Very not good.

_Please let her live, Father. Please, please, please, please, please . . . ._

Karl's prayers had taken on a single-minded simplicity.

_Lord, what do I do, You have to tell me what to do, she has to live, please Lord, she can't die . . . ._

His thought patterns, normally so diamond-sharp and well-ordered, had crumbled to shards at the immediacy of her death.

_Lord, help me, give me some direction, please, she can't die, she isn't ready, I can't lose her too . . . . _

He had set her up with an IV drip, but all he had was half-a-liter of saline solution. It was part of the standard-issue deep-woods camper's medical kit he had bought on a whim during the construction of the base.

_Oh, Dear God, help me . . . . _

He knew – _knew_ – that with the amount of blood she had lost her hematocrit had to be dangerously, perhaps fatally, low. But he had no way of checking. He knew she was in shock, and knew there was precious little he could do about it. She was wrapped warmly, legs elevated . . . .

_Please, please, please, please, please . . . . _

He held her unresponsive paw, watching every stuttering breath with labored intensity.

_Let her live . . . . _

He really had kept much less on paw in the way of medical supplies than the average survivalist would have found necessary, simply because he didn't need them. He had no use for fancy antibiotics or replacement fluids or symptomatic remedies. **He** never got sick. **He** never got infections. **He** never had to contend with massive blood loss. This most remote of all his bases was not designed for support so much as retreat. It was a good place to get away from civilization for a while.

And that was just too bad.

_If I hadn't dismantled that stupid sled!_

In his heart of hearts he knew there was no way he could have anticipated the events of the last few hours. The presence of what he could only think of as a demon-possessed psychopath in these extremely remote lands wasn't something one could realistically plan for. He knew that, but it didn't help.

_If I hadn't gone off joy-riding. _

But this had been just one more fishing trip. One of many. Nothing remarkable about the morning, no fell portents to warn of impending tragedy.

_If I'd just been here. _

He was desperately afraid that it was only the vitality of her finely-honed physique that was keeping her alive now. Only postponing the inevitable.

_She's lost so much blood._

He closed his eyes, held her paw to his lips, and continued praying.

_Oh, Father, if I just had some blood to give her . . . ._

He sat up slowly, eyes wide.

Blood.

Hang on.

He **had** blood!

_Lord? Is that it?_

He looked over at Wendy. The skin under her fur was an ashy gray. She had never regained consciousness, not on the trot back down the mountain, not during the forty-minute ride back to the house, not once. . . .

_My blood? Give her my blood? But I don't know if they're even compatible . . . ._

Blood compatibility was a tricky thing among furs. Some species (such as the great cats) could give blood to most others without adverse reaction, while a few species (the tarsiers, for one) could rarely trade blood even among themselves. He had never read anything about compatibility between wolverines and foxes. He grimaced bitterly. As with practically all other medical considerations, it had never been at issue.

He sat there for almost ten minutes, thinking furiously, trying to derive, from all the trillions of quadrillions of pieces of data stored in his perfectly-ordered mind, whether the thing he was contemplating was feasible.

He got up and went over to the medical locker and pulled out the necessary equipment, then sat back down next to her to arrange everything. He popped the business end of the transfusion line into her drip. Then it was the work of but a minute to tie off, find a vein and get the needle through his skin.

_This has to work! I'm three times her size, I've got blood to spare, and can't bleed to death anyway. _

He made sure to flex his fist every few seconds to keep the blood flowing. It flooded the IV immediately, and began trickling in. He had a few nervous minutes at the start as he watched for any signs of negative reaction, but none occurred. He prayed non-stop.

_Please, Father! Please let it work._

He had no way to monitor how much of his blood he gave her. He had to keep moving the needle back and forth in his arm to prevent his overzealous regeneration factor from closing it off and pushing it out completely.

_Lord, please let this work. Please let her live. Please, please, please, please . . . ._

He transfused her for twenty minutes and then took her BP again. Ninety-five over sixty-five.

_**Yes! Yes! Yes!**_

Her color was a little better, too.

_Thank you, Lord!_

He continued giving her his blood for an additional twenty minutes, then put her back on saline, though the bag was nearly empty. She was breathing almost normally, pressure one-hundred over seventy. He pulled the transfusion needle out of his arm, and watched as the hole closed and disappeared. In less than twenty seconds there was no sign he had been stuck.

_Well, well. Seems I'm healing faster than I used to. Intriguing. _He hadn't had the luxury earlier of timing how quickly his knife wounds had healed. He looked and noted that they were completely gone as well. Not even scars remained.

He turned his attention back to Wendy. Now that she seemed to be out of imminent danger, his mind was piecing itself together again.

_Need to get her some antibiotics. No telling what kind of filth that maniac had on his knife._

He knew the med-locker only contained topical first-aid cream and a few kinds of antibiotic pills. What he needed was something broad-spectrum that he could give her as an injection, something like teicoplanin or one of the newer benelcycline derivatives. But that would mean either leaving Wendy alone while he made the ten-hour-one-way trip to Fox Lake (the closest hamlet with a landing strip), or taking her along and risking breaking something open on the rough ride. She'd popped several stitches on the way back from the cliff, and it wasn't all that far. No, he couldn't chance it. Neither option was acceptable.

He leaned over Wendy and gently brushed the headfur away from her face. "Well, my lady, it seems as if neither of us will be going anywhere anytime soon." _We'll just have to make do with the ointments. Maybe I can distill something out of the TriOtic._

He changed the dressing on her wounds, washing the violated skin and re-applying the antibiotic. He got several tubes of the ointment and headed to the kitchen, noting as he did that the sun was beginning to set_. Hmh. Tempus fugit. Seems like half a lifetime since this morning._

While rummaging through the pantry for some additional nourishment he took up his prayers where he had left off. Wendy was still a long way from well, and he would need the Master Physician to oversee her recovery.

##

_** 7:15pm **_

_[ [ . . . . . . . . . master . . . . . . . . . ] ]_

The rain had stopped shortly before sunset, but the random sounds of dripping water still echoed through the wood.

A pair of coyotes, drawn by the smell of the pieces of stiffening corpse, came padding up the long, rocky rise. They looked carefully in all directions, leery of the mountain lion they knew patrolled this area. Maybe there would be something here they could take, and run. They didn't like feeding in the open.

As they neared the spot, the one in the lead stopped, its hackles raised. The other followed suit, then both began to whine. They turned, and scrambled back down the slope as if pursued by Death itself.

If the wolf had been in possession of his snout, and had the energy to spare to analyze it, the reeking fetor that suddenly covered the rocky promontory would have made him retch.

_[ [. . . . . master . . . help me . . . . . ] ]_

A spot, darker than the rest of the overcast evening, began pulsing in the center of the web he had constructed. A tendril, black and opalescent, curled out in quest of the source of the summons. It lightly probed one of the pieces of the ravaged corpse, jerking back in distaste.

_[ [ . . . . . . . master ] ]_

The tendril faded, attenuated to no more than a thread, and drew back to the web.

**YOUR FLESH IS TAINTED.**

_[ [ master . . . please ] ]_

**YOU HAVE FAILED ME AGAIN.**

_[ [ master . . . no ] ]_

**YOU WILL FAIL ME NO MORE.**

The wolf's corpse had already passed into rigor mortis. Nevertheless, the pieces writhed as the incredible pain struck.

**AT LEAST I HAVE YOUR SOUL WITH WHICH TO AMUSE MYSELF.**

What little was left of the wolf would have screamed, had the pieces been attached, but the collapsed lungs, the riven diaphragm, and the severed head rendered his agony silent. The sodden fur began to steam, then to smolder, then bright spots of flame erupted on the cliff-top, flaring for seconds only, and fading out.

The mocking laughter faded as well, leaving the cliff bare, but for a few scorched places on the rock.

##

_** Thursday 01 June 2017 – 8:45am **_

Karl had had a great deal of difficulty getting to sleep. In the first place he was frustrated because he had been unable to synthesize a usable insinuative from the TriOtic, and had only succeeded in reducing his supply of the ointment. Then later, after getting to bed, he kept "hearing things" that brought him back to Wendy's side, but each time she was simply lying there, completely inert. It had been the not-so-wee hours of the morning before he really did fall asleep, and then his dreams were troubled.

He awoke at a quarter of nine, and the morning sun was shining cheerily through windows that had been freshened up by last night's storm. He hurried in to see how Wendy was doing.

She was still asleep and it didn't look as if she had budged from her position of several hours ago. He checked her pulse. Ninety-six, fairly rapid. And she had something of a fever. _Crap! I have __**got**__ to get her some multicycline! _Her blood pressure was back down a little, ninety over sixty. Not critical, but not great. If she did have any internal bleeding, it wasn't bad.

He rummaged around and got together the bandages he needed to change her dressing. Carefully, he moved the blanket back, slowly so as not to disturb her.

_Uh-oh._

Her abdomen was swollen, almost distended, and her skin under the white fur was pink, shading darker in places. The edges of the great slashes were an angry red, and puckered. There were a couple of places where a thick, yellowish fluid was beginning to leak from around the stitches.

Infection. Peritonitis, maybe.

Karl knew any number of creative curses, in a triple-dozen languages, but he had largely given up those expressions some five years ago. Nor would any of them have helped the situation.

He felt around the wounds gingerly, trying to ascertain the extent of the infection, and was not encouraged. _I'm going to have to clean her out, and fast._

He went to the kitchen and drew water into the biggest pot he could find, salted it lightly, set it on the range, and then turned on the propane. He positioned a tarp under her to protect the bed from damage. She would be there for a while, and it wouldn't do to have her lying on a sodden mattress. He brought soap and a washcloth and a quantity of iodine solution to the bed, and cleaned and sanitized her fur and skin as well as he could.

When the water had boiled, he covered the pot, set it in the sink, and ran cold water around it to cool it off. When it was tepid, he took it back to the bed.

He couldn't, he _wouldn't_ think about failure. That was not an option. He would do what was necessary to keep her alive.

He started with the lowest cut on her abdomen and began removing the monofilament carefully. The edges of the wound had not yet started to knit, so it gaped open as he worked.

It was not pretty. Glad he was that he had a strong stomach.

He took ladlefuls of the sterile saline solution and poured them carefully into her abdominal cavity, turning her on her side to let it drain. He managed to catch most of it in a large galvanized steel washtub that he'd placed under the edge of the bed.

Karl had rendered first aid many times to teammates in varying degrees of distress. He had picked through battlefields littered with corpses and pieces thereof. He had personally killed or wounded thousands of opponents, and been indirectly responsible for the deaths of many thousands more. It wasn't that the gore bothered him. He'd seen more than most furs. What affected him was **_whose_** gore it was.

His violent history had been one of the major sticking points in his research prior to his conversion. The idea that a just and perfect God could forgive what he had done, much less accept him in love, hadn't made the tiniest bit of sense. There was no reason for it. Why would He bother?

Nevertheless, He had.

That thought gave Karl hope for Wendy as he performed the lavage. He prayed constantly. God did care. He cared deeply.

It took a long time. He used two whole tubes of TriOtic on her. Karl was much more careful, each time he re-stitched, to get the sutures close and even, to line up the ravaged skin as perfectly as he could, to stop the bleeders effectively. But he was no doctor. His stock and trade had been the _production_ of damage like this, not the _healing_ of it. He was sweating bullets, hoping, praying that this was the right thing to do.

Several times she started bleeding again and despite his best efforts at speed and containment, there was a deep tinge of red in the basin when he was done. But he knew it had been necessary. He had cleaned out three abscesses and any number of bits of dirt and debris. He hoped it would be enough.

It took a good long while to clean up, too. He got her dried off as well as he could and removed the tarp. He took a couple of large towels and wrapped them around her hips as a sort of makeshift diaper in case her bladder voided, then wrapped her back up in the blankets.

Flopping loosely back into the chair, which protested under his considerable mass, he sighed in frustration. He was tired, a novel situation in its own right. He never really got stiff or sore, not in the sense that normal furs did. Those phenomena were the result of the buildup of waste chemicals in the muscles and joints, and his system precluded that from happening. But he was emotionally drained. And hungry. That thought hit him. He was **very** hungry.

He looked at the clock. _Holy smokes! That took seven hours? I've gotta eat._ He went to the kitchen and pulled out three liters of orange juice, a loaf of bread and a dozen cans of tuna, and in less than five minutes took care of the immediate need.

Back at Wendy's side, he took her blood pressure again. Ehhh. Eighty-five over fifty-five. _Time for another transfusion._

Three-quarters of an hour later, he nodded in satisfaction as he checked her vital signs. BP up, heart rate down almost to normal, color better. _Darn good thing our blood types work together._

She seemed to be resting more comfortably. Maybe. He hoped. It was hard to tell. Sighing, he sat in the chair beside her bed and closed his eyes. Given the extent of her injuries, he couldn't quite believe she was even still alive.

He watched her sleep for a long time, studying her features, occasionally stroking her forehead or an ear, and reflecting on the power of love. He was, he knew, irrevocably, irredeemably, and without reservation committed to her. She was life and breath and meaning to everything that made him who he was. They were joined: heart, mind, and body. Become one.

That set him to wondering about their situation. Why? Why this particular vixen? What was it about her . . . . No, that was a silly question. It was _everything_ about her. Her persistence in the face of overwhelming odds, her flippant manner of speech, her jewel-sharp sense of humor, her thousands of variant moods, the way she got paint all over herself when using a roller, her love of cooking, her love of language, her gentle way with the very young and the very old, and half a thousand other things. Proximity was probably a large factor as well. Not since he had been with Phoebe had he spent anything like as much time around one female. It could be that he would have fallen in love with any woman in that situation.

But he hadn't. He'd fallen in love with Wendy. And now they were mated.

Leaning over, he placed a tender kiss on her muzzle, squeezing a few tears out when there was absolutely no response whatsoever.

##


	28. Chapter 7 Attainment Part D

_**Chapter Seven – Attainment – Part D**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Friday 02 June 2017 – 5:22am **_

He was awakened very early this morning by the moaning and low cries coming from Wendy's bed.

She thrashed weakly back and forth, mumbling incoherently. Karl put one paw on the side of her neck and one on her forehead.

Fever. She was burning up.

He ran to the bathing area and turned on the cold water so it would fill the tub, then went back to the bed and picked Wendy up. He handled her gently, as if she were a spun-glass figurine. She, on the other paw, flailed about with her free arm and caught him a good smack across the muzzle.

He carried her over to the tub and lowered her into it. The water was not deep yet; it didn't flow very quickly.

Her eyes flew open and she looked up at him, not seeing him. She said, "mailbox!" very distinctly, then lapsed back into muttering and closed her eyes.

He peeked under the bandages and sighed in frustration. The wounds were suppurating again.

_Maybe soaking will do a better job of cleaning them out than I did yesterday. Here's hoping._

In another ten minutes the water covered her torso, and Karl began working on the cuts. He had a very good idea of how much water was in the storage tank, and figured he would be able to change the water in the tub some eight or nine times. He prayed it would be sufficient to wash out the infection.

He prayed a lot that day. It had become a habit, and a very comfortable one at that.

One part of his mind argued (especially when he really took a hard, critical look at Wendy's condition) that he was wasting his time, that the primitive environment of the homestead precluded his being able to save her, that he should resign himself to losing yet another love. But that was the old cynical Karl talking.

And wasn't he a new creation?

_Well, Karl, do you really believe those promises in Scripture? Or is it just a pleasant fantasy?_

No. Not fantasy.

He had met the Author. Personally.

And "peace", "patience", and "self-control", among other things, came as part of the deal. He would do what he could, work as if it all depended on him, and pray as if it all depended on God.

So he went to work. It turned out to be a long, long day.

##

_** 5:20pm **_

Her fever seemed finally to be under control. She stopped thrashing around and talking incoherently sometime in mid-afternoon. He'd been afraid a few times that she was going to hurt herself banging into the sides of the tub, but his reflexes were up to the challenge. He'd even been able to get her to drink a decent quantity of fruit juice and a few crushed-up aspirin.

Once (perhaps as a reaction to being dunked) her bladder purged, and he had to keep her out of the result until the water could be replaced.

She was back in her bed now, reasonably dry, and to all appearances resting comfortably. He had sewn her back up after getting her out of the tub, and now it was time to replenish _his_ energy reserves.

He always made it a point to keep PowerBars readily available, and had consumed several dozen in the last twenty-four hours. But he hadn't had a regular meal since breakfast Thursday, and longed for something substantial. He settled for a few large pieces of dried fish, half a kilo of cheese, and a loaf of bread. It was filling and had the desired attribute of being quickly and easily prepared. He was back beside her bed in eight minutes.

Respiration normal, pulse a little fast, BP a little low. To be expected under the circumstances. He got another transfusion kit from the med locker and noted idly that there was only one left.

_Maybe she'll be mended enough to stand the trip to Fox Lake tomorrow. _

Hope springs eternal, eh? But then, he chided himself, Hope had some precedent here. She should have been dead.

After transfusing she really did look much better. He was sure it was just his overactive imagination that put a little smile on her face. He made himself comfortable in the chair and settled in to keep watch over her … and to meditate on the vagaries of emotional attachments.

##

_** Saturday 03 June 2017 – 7:41am **_

He awoke when he first heard Wendy stir. Glancing over at her, he saw that she had turned onto her side in the night, and had one arm lying on top of the blanket.

He stretched briefly, then checked her pulse and temperature. Both on the green! Excellent.

He laid out the materials he needed to replace her bandages, moved the blanket out of the way, and slowly and gently turned her over onto her back. If the wounds had abscessed again, he didn't want to hurt her. He lifted the near end of the bandage covering the long upper-abdominal gash . . . .

And stopped, becalmed by what he saw.

The fishing line he had used to close the huge lacerations was lying on _top_ of her skin, under the bandage, threaded around and between the hairs of her pelt. The raw, puckered wounds that had been there only the evening before were gone, leaving nothing but very faint, narrow scars. He pulled off the rest of the coverings and examined the cuts. All closed. And in every case the ligatures had been rejected. He placed a paw on the smooth, pilose surface of her belly, tracing one finger hesitantly along the line of the vertical scar. Wendy shifted slightly, turned her head the other way, and gave out a small sigh.

_Lord? I know you're not out of the miracle business, but frankly I wasn't expecting this!_

Karl snagged an end of one of the lengths of monofilament and pulled it slowly from her fur. Sure enough, it was completely unattached. He removed the remaining sutures, wrapped her up in the blanket again, and then leaned back in his chair, pondering mightily. _Was_ this a supernatural miracle?

Or … could his healing factor have transferred to her via his blood? He didn't think that likely. It had taken a coordinated effort on the part of a huge cadre of genobiologists and an extensive, and quite talented, medical team led by a pair of certified hyper-geniuses to achieve that little bit of genetic legerdemain in the first place. It had stretched out over months of carefully timed injections. Even with all the precautions they took, the majority of the potential team members had not survived it.

Or was that, in itself, the miracle?

Hmmmm. . . . . .

He sat there for some time, just watching Wendy sleep and thinking about her condition. Very, _very_ intriguing.

He decided two things. First, whatever the cause, Wendy was obviously on the mend, which meant that life would continue being worthwhile. Second, he was hungry. Supper was a dim memory from the night before. He'd been preoccupied with trying to keep her alive.

He got up and went to the kitchen where he collected the ingredients for a massive omelet.

##


	29. Chapter 7 Attainment Part E

_**Chapter Seven – Attainment – Part E**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

_**. . .**_

##

_** Saturday 03 June 2017 – 9:12am **_

Karl was putting away the last of the breakfast dishes when he heard Wendy yawn. He was beside the bed in a moment.

She had turned over onto her left side and had her left arm under the pillow, cradling her head. He sat down to watch her. In a few minutes she stirred again, and her eyes opened to half-mast. She saw him and smiled a dreamy little smile.

"Y'know, I 's havin' the funnies' dream 'bout you 'n' Artie."

She blinked a couple of times and the smile faded. Sitting halfway up, propped on her left elbow, her brow crinkled into deep furrows as the memories came tumbling back.

She looked at the bed. She looked down at herself and realized that she didn't have anything on. Then she spied the scars on her torso. The forefinger of her right paw touched one hesitantly. Her head snapped up and her eyes caught and held his.

"_**Where's Arthur?**_"

Karl answered while carefully watching her eyes. "That would be the wolf that attacked you?"

"Yes!"

"Dead."

"Dead? As in _really_ dead?"

"Most sincerely dead."

"You're sure?"

"Wendy, I think I've seen enough dead people to know one when I run across him. Especially if I happened to be the cause of death." He glanced away from her. "Unless you know a top-notch taxidermist, I'm afraid it'll have to be a closed-casket funeral."

She lay back down against the sheet and pulled the blanket up around her, disgust struggling with relief on her face. "Good. Sorry bastard."

Karl extended one paw, moved the blanket away from her abdomen, and traced the line of the scar she had touched. Wendy gasped and squirmed away from him. "Hey! That tickles!"

Karl crossed his arms and looked down at her. "How do you feel?"

She rearranged her blanket. "Okay, I guess. You _could_ leave a girl a little dignity, y'know. I've got a couple of robes around here somewhere." She stopped and thought about what she had just said. She looked under the blanket again and felt along the faint lines of scar tissue, her face showing her surprise at their extent.

"Damn! He cut me up good. All I remember is him starting this one across my lower chest. I guess I fainted. That son of a bitch." She glanced up at Karl and pursed her lips. "Stinkin' piece of garbage took his own sweet time while he was cutting. Wiggled his knife back and forth to make it hurt more." She grimaced at the memory, then looked back at Karl with a sudden small frown. "Did _you_ put me back together?"

He nodded. "You don't feel any pain, any discomfort?"

She shook her head. She was still fingering the scars under the blanket. "Did a good job. They don't even sting." She frowned, looking up at Karl. "I've never been cut before, sure not like that." She paused, thinking. "You know he … he used to … y'know, hit me."

"I know."

She scooted down further into the covers and pulled them up to her chin. "He'd hit me hard. He'd leave bruises. But he was careful to hit me where it would be easy to cover. Don't remember that he ever hit my face. He was mean, and a control freak, but he was a _careful_ mean control freak."

"But he never cut you while you were married?"

"No. I guess he figured he didn't have to. He was SO much stronger than I was." Her mouth twisted. "He really enjoyed throwing his weight around that way. He'd brag about being able to kill people with his bare paws if he felt like it. Sorry low-down bastard." She was staring off into the past. "I should have left him when he first started that shit. But it came on so … I don't know … subtly? gradually? I just woke up one day and realized I wasn't _me_ anymore, but by then it was too late to do anything about it." She turned over onto her back and closed her eyes. "And now he's dead." She didn't say anything for several seconds. "He got out of prison at the end of February in 2012, and just disappeared. Been over five years, and he just shows up out of the blue. Out here on the backside of creation! How in the hell did he even _find_ me?"

"Well … I have no hard info on that, but I do have a theory."

"Oh?"

"It involves your necklace."

"What about …" A swift paw found her throat. "Huh. Guess he took that, too. Bastard."

"No, he didn't. I found it with your easel. He must have managed to shake it off your head some way, because it was still clasped."

The vixen's pretty features bent around in confusion. "Say what?"

"Yeah. See, I don't think he could touch it."

"… Why not?"

"I told you a friend of mine made it, right?"

"Yeah. You did. So?"

"Okay. Um …" His brow furrowed briefly. "Do you remember when you went through a phase last year where you were having some really awful nightmares?"

"Ho! Don't remind me! They were horrible."

"Um … well, they, uh, stopped. Suddenly. Do you remember that?"

"… I do. Where are you going with this?"

He scooted his chair closer and took ten minutes or so to fill her in on what happened at the Inn when Nicu and Faye paid a late-night visit. When he was finished, she shivered and looked at him in disbelief. "Magic? You're telling me they used _magic_ on him?"

"Yes. Nicu did, anyway."

"And the necklace does the same thing?"

"Uh … _did_ the same thing."

"… How's that?"

"Arthur and I fought. He was every bit as fast as I was, and considerably stronger."

"Stronger? Than _**you**_?"

"Yes."

"SONUVABITCH!"

"Yeah. That was kinda my reaction, too."

"Damn. I know he was strong, 'cause … but _damn_! He didn't look like he'd had a decent meal in a month!"

"I know. His strength was … artificially enhanced. Magically, if I'm right."

"So how'd you end up killing him?"

"Well to start with I tried switching to Augmented strength."

"… Ohhh. And _then_ you could beat him?"

"No. That helped. It kept _me_ from getting killed. But he was just too tough. Even after whacking off one of his arms, he still … he just wouldn't drop. See, I think he … I think he might have been possessed."

"… How's that again?"

"Demonically. Or something." He shrugged apologetically. "I don't have a better explanation. I wish I did. But he … he had this, I don't know, I guess you'd call it an energy field that partially covered him. It looked like … some kind of …"

"Oily black translucent goo?"

That jerked his head up. "You saw it, too?"

"… Yeah. Right before … before he started cutting me. It was all over him … like syrup or something. It was dark and it shimmered."

"Exactly!" He leaned back and gave a relieved laugh. "So I _wasn't_ seeing things. Thank you!"

She gave him a bleak smile. "… You're welcome?"

"That probably means I wasn't hearing things either."

"What things?"

"The … whatever was controlling him. It commanded him to kill me." Karl shivered, reached over, and took her paw. "I've never before heard anything that I could describe as _intrinsically_ evil. But that was."

Gazing at him solemnly, she asked, "Did you see it?"

"No. I only heard the voice. But then …"

His sentence trailed off to nothing. She prompted, "Then what?"

"Uh … sorry. He came at me. I dodged. We brushed past each other. And as we touched there was a … sort of a shock. See, I'd found your necklace and put it in a pocket. When he … his energy field, that is … touched it … it put him on the ground for a few seconds. Took the wind right out of his sails. And it seemed to hurt whatever was possessing him, too. I pulled the necklace out and it was glowing. So I wrapped it around the hilt of my knife and went at him. And it worked."

"What'd it do, make him weaker?"

"Nnnnno … maybe? I'm not sure. But before that, whenever I'd cut him, it was as if he didn't even notice. And I gave him at least three killing blows. But once the necklace was in contact with the knife, he felt every blow. And I was taking no chances on his recovery, so I … did a pretty thorough job."

"Disassembled him, huh?"

"Completely. It would take some work to find all the parts." His expression turned earnest. "But in the process it also … sounded like it was … hurting the thing controlling him. I think, right there at the last, it may have actually driven the … _entity_ out of him. There were some … really weird effects."

"Weird? How weird?"

"… Difficult to explain. Like an explosion, only it was … the shadow of an explosion? Maybe? As I said, it was weird."

"Yeah. Weird." Her stomach growled and a look of surprise crossed her face. "Say, you got anything to eat? All of a sudden I'm starving!"

Karl seemed to be expecting her to say something along those lines. He picked up a plate from the floor beside the bed and set it down on the blanket. It held an apple, a PowerBar, a large portion of the omelet he'd fixed for himself, and half-a-liter of vanilla yogurt. Wendy set to with a will and shortly presented him a clean plate, which he traded for a tall glass of fruit juice. She downed it in one long swallow, passed it back to him, and flopped back onto the pillow.

Yawning, eyes closed, she seemed disinclined to say anything else. Karl pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down in it. "Speaking of weird things, as you were, I think _your_ overall reaction to your current physical state would fall under that classification."

"Yeah?" She opened one eye. "How so?"

"Aren't you even fractionally curious about your recovery?"

She turned her head in his direction. "Well, now that you mention it, I would like to know how long I was out of it. Couple-three weeks at least, by the looks of things. Yes?"

He looked her in the eye, brow furrowing. "Tell me what you remember about what happened to you."

She shuddered, staring off through the window. "It makes me sick. I was painting, and trying to get part of the picture just right and I was kinda zoned out. Won't make that mistake again. He got up right behind me and I caught an unfamiliar scent and was turning around when he clobbered me. Next thing I knew I was fastened to that big rock. He performed some sort of, I don't know, some ritual or something. Painted me up and down with blood that he … he got from …" She swallowed, and managed to control her rising gorge. "He, uh, he chanted some nonsense about sacrificing me to his master, then told me I was going to die. Hmph. Maybe it wasn't nonsense. I remember him coming at me with that knife and thinking 'He's not gonna do it, he's just trying to scare me.' It wasn't until he actually cut me that I _really_ believed he would." She looked back at Karl. "It's still so vivid."

Karl was silent for a slow count of five, then said, "It happened three days ago."

She stared at him for so long that Karl was beginning to think perhaps she hadn't heard what he'd said.

"What?"

"It happened Wednesday. Today is Saturday, the third of June, twenty-seventeen. He attacked and overpowered you about an hour before noon, I make it. At approximately the same time, I packed up my fishing gear and left the lake because of the approaching storm. I got back here just past noon and pieced together what had happened. The wolf didn't make any attempt to hide his trail, so I followed you as quickly as I could. It took most of an hour. I had to abandon the ATV where the scarps began and go the rest of the way on foot." He leaned toward her, elbows on knees, and smoothed her headfur gently with one paw. "I heard you when you started screaming. I'm just sorry I couldn't have gotten to you sooner."

"But … " Several questions began struggling to emerge at the same time. "How did … where are the … " She looked again at the evidence of the attack, and touched one of the scars. "But this looks old. As in healed. How could it have happened … Thursday? Not even three full days ago? I thought I'd been out for weeks!"

"You wouldn't be feeling nearly this chipper, were that the case. Think about it. Are you stiff?"

". . . . . . . No."

"How about weak?"

"I'm … a little sleepy, but, no, I wouldn't say weak." She frowned. "I _am_ still hungry, though."

_No surprise there!_ "You ever spend a significant amount of time in the hospital before?"

"Just a couple of days. After Arthur … after I lost … " She bit her lower lip and shut her eyes.

"Okay, Wendy, it's all right. A couple of days, then. Do you remember how you felt at the time?"

"Not really, no." She sighed. "It's been a while."

She was staring off at nothing, thinking hard about what Karl had told her. Under the blanket she was running her fingers slowly along the scars on her belly. Suddenly she looked up at him.

"I have to pee."

He allowed half a smile to land on his muzzle. "I have no objection."

"Would you please get me a robe? Or something?"

His expression matured into a grin. "What'll you give me for it?"

"A dry bed. If you hurry."

"Yipe! You win! Comin' right up."

##

_** 1:40pm **_

They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the remains of an extensive lunch and two cups of tepid coffee between them. She had been eating off and on ever since arising, but she still didn't feel all that full.

She'd had many, _many_ questions about her condition and he'd answered them willingly, and as completely as he could. Now she sat there digesting the information along with her meal.

Karl was studying her face. For many months now he had had every line, every hair, every nuance of expression memorized … but oddly, he never tired of adding to the archive.

Wendy was wandering around in her head, somewhere a long way off, and had been there for a while. She had very much felt the need of a bath after breakfast, and had spent close to an hour lounging in the huge tub (using _hot_ water this time). She wasn't saying any more about her miraculous recovery, and Karl wasn't about to push the topic.

He stood, took their cups over to the sink and began washing up. Halfway through, she came over to stand behind him and slipped her arms around his middle.

She snuggled her head against his back. "Thanks."

"For …?"

"Lunch, you goof. Duh! What else? Saving my life. I know you must have worked pretty hard to keep me from kicking off. I just want you to know I'm grateful for the effort."

He turned and hugged her, then picked her up in a close embrace. She settled her muzzle into the thick fur of his shoulder and held him around the neck.

"Wendy, I …" She put one finger against his lips to shush him, then fitted herself into his arms again.

"I'm really happy right now. I know it's temporary, but just humor me for a bit, okay? Until this all hits home and I lose it. Just hold me. I like it when you hold me."

"I like it, too." It was barely a whisper.

Karl stood there with her for a few minutes, then decided that sitting would be more comfortable for her, so he walked out to the main room and eased down onto the sofa. That put her more or less on his lap, and she seemed quite content to stay right there.

After several minutes, she sat up and looked at him curiously. "Do you have a pocket knife on you?"

"Always. S.O.P., you know."

"May I see it?"

He fished around in one of his many pockets and produced the desired object. "Here you are. What do you need it for?"

"That depends. Is it sharp?"

"All my knives are sharp. A dull knife is …"

"… is a dangerous knife. You've said that before, too." She opened one of the folding blades to its locked position and tested the edge briefly. Then she made a quick slash across the back of one finger.

Karl yelped and grabbed the knife. "WHAT are you DOING?"

She wasn't paying him much attention. Instead she was looking at her finger.

"No blood."

"Ex_cus_e me!"

"It didn't bleed. I felt the blade cut. It should have … well, I guess there is a little. Couple drops. It's all closed up now, though."

Karl took her paw gently in his and examined the site.

Augmenting his vision, he saw the ends of the hairs that had been severed, and could barely detect the still-fading line where her skin had parted. There was, indeed, a very tiny amount of blood staining the fur there. While he watched, the last evidence of the cut vanished. Nine, perhaps ten seconds had passed.

He looked up at her face, shocked to note the tears marring the fur of her cheeks.

"Wendy? What is it?"

"Does this mean that I'm … that I'm like you now?"

"Like me? What, like me?"

"You know. Strong. Fast. All that other stuff. An Augment."

"I have no idea. It isn't as if there were any precedents for this situation." He studied her closely and she met his gaze unflinchingly. "My strength has a lot more to do with the biocrystalline implants and artificially reinforced bones than with the regeneration factor. But you might very well pick up some speed and dexterity. Would it bother you if you did?"

She continued her intense appraisal of his face for several seconds before answering. "You know, I really have no idea. As you said, it has no precedent." She pulled her robe a little more securely around her, tucked her arms into the big, loose sleeves, and settled down against his chest, her head under his chin.

"Ever since last February it's as if I'd stepped into the pages of one of those 'adult' comic books, what do they call them? Graphic novels? Yeah. I'm a character in a graphic novel." She sighed deeply. "Now I've graduated to Super Wendy." Her tone gave the lie to the light words. Karl could tell she was deeply shaken. And indeed, she began to sob quietly.

Her distress, and his part in it, ripped him right down the middle. He wrapped her in a fiercely protective hug. A phrase from the Hippocratic Oath came to him: "First, do no harm." Only, he was no longer so sure he could come up with an accurate definition of harm.

Wendy sniffed a few times, brushed the sleeve of her robe across her muzzle, and turned to look up at him. "Karl?"

He stroked her head gently. "Yes?"

She repositioned her right paw from his neck to the back of his head, and pulled them together for a brief kiss. He was just starting to return it when she pulled away, regarding him with a lost expression.

"Karl, my old life is officially over now."

"That's a hard way to look at it."

"Maybe. But the fact remains that things have changed in a very fundamental way. Because now … I'm … different. Different like you. And you're the only other one. But I can't … I mean, I don't know where …"

She studied his face for a few moments. He was just as much at a loss for words as she.

"Karl, what am I going to do?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

**Here Ends Book Seven of the _Gone Wylde_ cycle**


End file.
